in disorder, his face almost black, yet with a far-off intentness, not of this world, leaning forward to look at her.
His face was so old, it was like dark glass, and the few curling hairs that sprang white from his lips and chin were quite incredible. The long white locks fell unbraided and disorderly on either side of the glassy dark face. And under a faint powder of white eyebrows, the black eyes of the old chief looked at her as if from the far, far dead, seeing something that was never to be seen.
At last he spoke a few deep, hollow words, as if to the dark air.
‘He says, do you bring your heart to the god of the Chilchui?’ translated the young Indian.
‘Tell him yes,’ she said, automatically.
There was a pause. The old Indian spoke again, as if to the air. One of the men present went out. There was a silence as if of eternity, in the dim room that was lighted only through the open door.
The woman looked round. Four old men with grey hair sat on the log by the wall facing the door. Two other men, powerful and impassive, stood near the door. They all had long hair, and wore white shirts gathered into a loincloth. Their powerful legs were naked and dark. There was a silence like eternity.
At length the man returned, with white and black clothing on his arm. The young Indian took them, and holding them in front of the woman, said:
‘You must take off your clothes, and put these on.’
'If all you men will go out,' she said.
‘No one will hurt you,’ he said quietly.
'Not while you men are here,’ she said.
He looked at the two men by the door. They came quickly forward, and suddenly gripped her arms as she stood, without hurting her, but with great power. Then two of the old men came, and with curious skill slit her boots down with keen knives, and drew them off, and slit her
