A rustle of whispers roused him, and he raised his silvered head to behold the loveliness of his stolen foster-child. Summoned by Terry, Ahma had come out of the shadows of the trees and stood at the forest end of the lane made for Ohto's passage through the crowd.
The old man extended his hand toward her in compelling gesture and she went to him with the agile swiftness of a half-wild thing. A moment he lightly stroked the rippling mass of hair, then he turned to his people again.
"Ohto said that the Tribal Agong would ring for the marriage of this white daughter of our tribe—but now—"
They followed his sadly expressive gaze to where the gong hung far out over the cliff, inaccessible to human touch.
"Daughter, it will be rung for you ... somehow.... Ohto has said it. I hope to live to hear it rung ... when you have found him who is to share your house—and after that, I do not care."
He paused again—lost in a patriarch's vague memories of other years. Retrieving his vagrant thoughts, he caught the frank message of the upturned face, a message which startled as it pleased him.
"Ah! You have found him, then? Let him step forth."
Ohto searched every brown face in the hushed circle, but none stepped forward.
Ahma slowly turned her head toward where the two white men stood apart, her eyes fastened upon Major Bronner. Terry gently pushed him forward. Trembling, his tanned face bloodless, the Major advanced and took her outstretched hand.
Ohto studied the Major, then turned to Terry. For a long moment he searched the lad's strong face, a deep disappointment in his own, before he again faced the two before him.