The old woman was silent. The lamp shook in her hand; her eyes were fixed upon the idol and the poor creature that clung to it, as if she really expected to see that healthy form fall crisped and withered away from the stone.
The girl turned, clasped her grandame around the knees, and lifting up her eyes, in which was a gleam of wild confidence, exclaimed:
“I am unhurt—I am unhurt—grandame, will you believe me now?”
Still the old woman was silent.
“Grandame, mother of my mother, you will not let me die!”
Terror and doubt again took possession of the poor thing. She clung closer to the old woman, her eyes dusky with fear; her lips growing pale again.
“Chaleco must have your life—he will not believe you; no, nor will the women of our tribe!”
“But you believe me, grandame!”
“And if I do, what then?”
“You have great power, grandame; our people acknowledge it; the stars make you their mistress. You will save me from Chaleco—from our fierce women”——