On the pure air came distant sounds of lamentation for the dead, shrill voices rising and falling in monotonous cadence, with dull drum beatings. Nearer there were different disturbances of the atmosphere—McAuliffe's deep voice, swearing angrily at some natives, alternating with the funereal strokes of a spade. The half-breed was preparing a grave for the cold figure lying in the other room.
The door swung open—no mosquitoes were stirring in that white heat—and the sun slanted inward with long dazzling rays. Presently a soft, hesitating step pattered along the planking outside, a shadow crossed the hot beams, then a face timidly peeped within.
Lamont called out lightly, and Menotah slipped inside. Warm colour shone in her cheeks, her bosom heaved slightly, while the radiant eyes were moist. Her red lips parted in a quick little sigh of surprised pleasure.
'I did not know you were here,' she said, the soft fringe dropping over her eyes. 'He said I might come—to say good-bye.'
Lamont bit his lip. 'He is inside.' Then she flashed a sudden look upon him and disappeared.
Sitting with the smoke rising to the log roof, he presently heard the sound of a kiss. He started and shuddered. It was a horrible idea for one so young, so warm, so beautiful, to press a kiss with ripe lips on the cold blue features of a corpse. When she appeared, somewhat more solemn and less smiling, he asked, 'Did you like him, Menotah?'
'Yes. He was nice, and used to kiss me; so I have kissed him, now that he has gone to the shadow land.'
She made a light step onward. Her heart was too happy to feel grief for long.
At that moment Lamont was almost glad a possible rival had been removed. This girl was such an entirely perfect piece of nature.
'You may come with me if you like,' she said artlessly, holding out a small brown hand. 'I will talk to you. Perhaps, if you are nice to me, I will kiss you.'