But they were gentle people. No one cared to tell Rondah this.
One night, when storm-clouds had been darkening the sky, Rondah, waiting with a tumult of fear and hope which made her heart beat like a hammer, mused sadly by her fire. It was splendid about her, but it was lonely splendor.
“If he does not come,” said Rondah, talking to the fire, “I shall die after this! I shall die the sad death of a child! No one will remember that I have lived a woman’s life, suffered a woman’s heart-break, earned a woman’s honor! No hairs are gray upon my head to crown it; when I lay it down in a coffin the people will very soon forget me! Sometimes I seem a mysterious monster to myself! Why do I not grow old like other people, if it is not for the star?”
She thought and thought until she could remain quiet no longer. Looking out she saw that the storm-clouds were piled in banks, aside, and that the sun was trying to break through them.
“In two days more, only two days, after all these years, and then I shall know! I cannot rest! What if it should not come? Regan! Regan! It is so many years!”
She threw a mantle of gold and crimson around her, wrapped a soft pink scarf about her head, and went out in the cool evening.
She took her usual route to the hill. She felt hurried and anxious. She thought she should see the star.
Now, her eyes took back their startled look, her face grew pale.
She saw a dark form in the path before her. She stopped; her heart beat swiftly. It was not time. She must not be deceived—a shock would lose her reason. It looked like Regan!
She went forward steadily, with dilating eyes. She did not know that in the whole world there was no one else so beautiful as was she, as she hastened to meet the man in the path, standing under the very tree where she had so often seen Regan waiting for her.