At the moment when Hayoue and Okoya found shelter in the caves of the Water clan, Shotaye dashed through the gangway of the building.  A tremendous shower was falling, and as soon as she entered the court she was drenched from head to foot, to the great delight of those who, well protected themselves, were standing in the doorways of their quarters.  One single voice called to her to come in, but she took no notice of it.  Blinded by the torrents of falling water, she groped her way along the walls, and finally stumbled into the open door of Say Koitza’s home.  Not a single thread of her scanty clothing was dry; her hair, soaked and dripping, clung to her forehead and cheeks as if glued to the skin; water filled her eyes, nostrils, and ears.  She removed the hair from her brow, shook herself, coughed, sneezed, and looked around.  The room was empty, but in the inner cell a fire crackled on the hearth; and Say came out.  At the sight of her friend she burst into a hearty laugh, and asked,—­

“Where do you come from?”

“Tziro kauash.”  Shotaye coughed, then in a whisper she inquired,—­

“Are you alone?”

Say’s brow clouded, and a deadly pang seized her.  What meant this query, this call so unusual, so mysterious?  In a low, hollow tone she replied,—­

“We are alone,” and turned back into the kitchen.  Her friend’s question sounded like a prelude to dismal tidings.

Both women squatted close to the fire.  Not a word was spoken.  The new-comer was busy drying herself, and the mistress of the house was struck by her rather cheerful looks.  Possibly her sad presentiment was wrong.  It was almost impossible to talk, except in a very loud tone; for the rain fairly roared, peals of thunder followed each other in quick succession, flashes of yellow lightning quivered outside of the little port-hole.  The room itself was very dark.

How often had the two women sat here years ago in anxious doubt, but hopeful at last!  How often had Say Koitza complained to her friend on this very spot,—­complained of her illness, of the sad outlook before her; and when she began to recuperate how often she told Shotaye about her plans for the future.  Now that future had come, and in what shape!

The roaring outside diminished gradually, the thunder sounded more remote.  Through the roof of mud and brush rivulets of water began to burst, forming little puddles on the mud floor and dripping on the heads of the two women.  Shotaye took no notice of it, but Say moved to avoid the moisture.  The roof seemed a sieve, the floor became a lagune.

Shotaye inquired,—­

“Have the Koshare been here?”

“They have,” the other said, “and they turned everything upside down, but found nothing.”

Shotaye drew a long breath, exclaiming,—­

“Then everything is right, all right; and you are safe!”

But the wife of Zashue Tihua shook her head mournfully.  “No, sa tao,” she replied, “it cannot save me.  I am lost, lost beyond hope.”