There was a knock upon the door, and, in response to a summons, Tang-a-Dahit stepped inside. A beautiful smile settled upon the girl’s face, and her eyes brooded tenderly upon the young hillsman.
“I am here, Mami,” said he.
“Friend of my heart,” she answered. “It is so long!”
Then he told her how, through Cumner’s Son, he had been turned from his visit two days before, and of the journey down, and of the fighting, and of all that had chanced.
She smiled, and assented with her eyes—her father had told her. “My father knows that thou dost come to me, and he is not angry,” she said.
Then she asked him what was to be the end of all, and he shook his head. “The young are not taken into counsel,” he answered, “neither I nor Cumner’s Son.”
All at once her eyes brightened as though a current of light had been suddenly sent through them. “Cumner’s Son,” said she—“Cumner’s Son, and thou—the future of Mandakan is all with ye; neither with Cumner, nor with Pango Dooni, nor with Cushnan Di. To the old is given counsel, and device, and wisdom, and holding; but to the young is given hope, and vision, and action, and building, and peace.”
“Cumner’s Son is without,” said he. “May I fetch him to thee?”
She looked grave, and shrank a little, then answered yes.
“So strong, so brave, so young!” she said, almost under her breath, as the young man entered. Cumner’s Son stood abashed at first to see this angelic head, so full of light and life, like nothing he had ever seen, and the nerveless, moveless body, like a flower with no roots.