“Where is my Dami?”
The old man shook his head, as much as to say, “He did not know.”
Then Amrie asked again, stamping her foot,—
“Is Dami here with you?”
The old man opened his hands, pointing right and left, and shook his head again, as though he could not be in either path.
“Who then sent for me,” said Barefoot, more vehemently. “Pray speak!”
The coal-burner pointed with his thumb to the side where the foot-path led round the mountain.
“Oh, speak one word,” said Barefoot, now weeping violently, “only one word. Is my Dami here, or where is he?”
At last the old man said, “He is there! He has gone up the foot-path to meet you,” and then, as though he had said too much, he pressed his lips together and went to his kiln.
There stood Amrie, and laughed in derision and sadness at the simplicity of her poor brother. “He sends for me, and then cannot remain in the spot where I could find him. How could he believe that I should take the foot-path? It will occur to him now, and he will take the other path; we shall be running away from each other as in a fog.”