She played with the idea for a moment—women think quickly—then she acted, as women act, upon impulse. She would have a good look at the wretch first, would have her fill of jibing at him, teasing him, terrifying him if that were possible. At least she would tell this outlander who had come for her—(proposing, as she knew, to knock her over the head in the dusk at the dipping-hole down by the river and drag her off half-stunned to be his trophy and slave for the term of her natural life), she would tell this raider, I say, in good set terms precisely what was in store for him, and see how he took it.
She peered and dropped a pebble. He looked up, and, albeit neither knew it, her business, and his too, was done. Incidentally the fates of countless millions of humans were spun by that brief passage of eyes. The horoscopes of empires were cast then and there. There and then was delimitated the eastern frontier of Old Rome, the Parthian march, which the legion was never to cross. The issue of Senlac was decided; Agincourt and Crecy were lost and won.
The seated man below leaned slowly back and turned his face up. It was the handsomest face the girl had ever seen. He wasn't at all what she had fancied, not by any means a brute, but quite young and—and—nice.
"You there?" said the man, quite naturally. Dêh-Yān studying his face did not answer.
"Come down and talk to me. I shall not eat you," he smiled wearily.
The girl pouted; this was putting the moccasin upon the wrong foot. And then the bush she was holding by parted without warning. She snatched, but failed in getting hold, snatched again at sliding rock and stone, saw firmaments of constellations, and went to sleep.
A few minutes later, not more, she awoke with a wet face. Someone was dabbing her sore head with water. Who—Where? She opened her eyes. The hunter, his own head bleeding from a fallen stone, was holding a sponge of wet moss to hers.
She struggled up dizzily and sate, within his reach, for the sill of the cave was narrow and the face beneath it fell steeply.
There was no escape for her if he were still strong enough to strike. She thought for a moment that he had struck, for she was running red, she was sitting in a red puddle, but it was whortleberry juice. Her wallet had partially broken her fall.