The wandering people had received him into their hearts, as every man did upon whom he turned and smiled. They gave him a tent and begged him never more to depart.
But the living dream he had come so far to seek remained in a world of her own, to which he could not find the key. The dark tribe felt no rivalry towards this being of light who had so suddenly appeared in their midst. They saw that he was a creature apart, made of another clay, filled with another life; something that they could dearly love, but never completely understand.
Like the rough seamen on the ship, they hoped he would for ever cast in his lot with theirs and not depart as suddenly as he had come.
Zorka, the old fortune-teller, was his daily guide; and they all considered it natural that this glorious youth should have fallen beneath the spell of the mad girl, who was their greatest pride and deepest grief.
Had they not sought in turn a smile from her lips, a look out of the wonder of her eyes, and had she not always seen past them, far beyond, into horizons all her own, never noticing the glowing worship that was cast at her feet?
Now they watched with growing anxiety if this handsome stranger would move her heart and bring her eyes down to this earth. They both hoped and feared.
They longed that the miracle should come to pass, and yet, in the deepest recesses of their hearts, there was not one who did not jealously dread the moment when, perchance, she might turn in love to this youth they knew was not as they. But none feared so much as old Zorka the witch—because had she not read within the flames of the fire, within the flight of the birds, within the forms of the smoke, within the ripples of the wave-kissed sands, that this maiden was not for earthly love, that the day when mortal lips should touch her with human caress she would fade away like vapour on the sea!
Indeed she may have erred in the reading of the signs, but it would be for the very first time in her life. So she cursed the day when she had led this beautiful boy into the presence of the girl she adored. And yet—and yet—can ever Fate be turned from the path upon which she glides? Must not one and all drink from the cup which has been fashioned for each separate lip?
Stella she had called the stranger maiden—Stella, because of her shining orbs; and no doubt when God needed her amongst His other stars, He would then take her for His very own. Ah, the wise woman, with her weak and trembling hands, how could she change the course of the moving worlds!
So she sat by her fire and stared into the bluey flames, her old head bent, her knotted palms resting on her knees, puffing away at her pipe of clay, seeing weird shapes in the smoke that rose quivering to the sky.