Near the outer edge of the throng was a red-lipped Juno, superbly rounded, who had gleaned in the fields until she was all a Gipsy brown, and her movements of a Gipsy grace in their freeness.  She did not greet the young Elder as did the others, seeming, indeed, to be unconscious of his presence.  Yet she lingered near as they scattered off into the dusk, in little groups or one by one; and still she stood there when all were gone, now venturing just a glance at him from deep gray eyes set under black brows, turning her splendid head a little to bring him into view.  He saw the figure and came forward, peeringly.

“Mara Cavan—­yes, yes, so it is!” He took her hand, somewhat timidly, an observer would have said.  “Your father is not able to be out?  I shall walk down with you to see him—­if you’re ready now.”

She had been standing much like a statue, in guarded restraint, but at his words and the touch of his hand she seemed to melt and flow into eager acquiescence, murmuring some hurried little words of thanks for her father, and stepping by his side with eyes down.

They went out into the soft summer night, past the open doors where rejoicing groups still lingered, the young standing, the old sitting in chairs by the doors of their huts.  Then they were out of the stockade and off toward the southern end of the settlement.  A big, golden moon had come up over the jagged edge of the eastern hills,—­a moon that left the valley in a mystic sheen of gold and blue, and threw their shadows madly into one as they walked.  They heard the drowsy chirp of the cricket, now harmless, and the low cry of an owl.  They felt the languorous warmth of the night, spiced with a hint of chilliness, and they felt each other near.  They had felt this nearness before.  One of them had learned to fear it, to tremble for himself at the thought of it.  The other had learned to dream of it, and to long for it, and to wonder why it should be denied.

Now, as they stepped side by side, their hands brushed together, and he caught hers in his grasp, turning to look full upon her.  Her ecstasy was poignant; she trembled in her walk.  But she looked straight ahead,—­waiting.  To both of them it seemed that the earth rocked under their feet.  He looked long at her profile, softened in the magic light.  She felt his eyes upon her, and still she waited, in a trembling ecstasy, stepping closely by his side.  She felt him draw a long breath, and then another, quickly,—­and then he spoke.

In words that were well-chosen but somewhat hurried, he proceeded to instruct her in the threefold character of the Godhead.  The voice at first was not like his own, but as he went on it grew steadier.  After she drew her hand gently out of his, which she presently did, it seemed to regain its normal pitch and calmness.

He saw her to the door of the cabin on the outskirts of the settlement, and there he spoke a few words of cheer to her ailing father.