"Will you ruin us, brother?" I rasped. "This is sacred in the eyes of these people. We are——"
For the first time he seemed to comprehend what I was trying to do.
"Otetiani does not know," he said mildly. "She is my Lost Soul."
"A mist has clouded Tawannears' eyes," I answered, realizing that in this humor I must abide by the imagery of his people.
"No, brother," he returned, still without feeling. "You have not seen. You have forgotten. But Tawannears knew—before this happened there was a song in his heart that told him this would be."
"Of what?" I begged, conscious of the hostile looks that were acknowledging this interruption of the scene. "What said this song? Was it of one maid who looked like another?"
"She does not look like another," he said with dignity. "She is another. She is my Lost Soul."
"You are mad, brother," I groaned.
He smiled pityingly at me.
"No, my eyes are opened. But Otetiani cannot see. What said the ancient tale of my people? That the warrior who traveled beyond the sunset would find the land of Lost Souls——"