"What is this that you say?" And Charmides, who had but half caught the slave's words, moved closer to him. Then, suddenly, a new idea struck the rhapsode. His heart shot downward for one sickening instant. Speaking very slowly, out of his dread, he asked: "Ramûa—where is she?"
Baba sobbed again; and Charmides, with a great cry, sprang to her side and laid a fierce hand on the child's shoulder. "Ramûa!—Ramûa! Where is she?"
Baba raised her eyes and made a sidelong gesture towards the door of the other room. Charmides followed the look, and he almost laughed with relief to see Ramûa standing there in the door-way, looking at him. She was just as usual: her hair smoothly coiled and bound about her head with strips of bright cloth; her feet shod with wooden sandals; her ragged tunic fitting her slender figure closely. But Ramûa's eyes were red—far more red than Baba's. She was not, however, weeping now. Charmides thought her tears for Bazuzu, and he went to her with sympathetic phrases on his tongue and comforting tenderness in his heart. It was a shock, then, when she shrank from his approach and turned her head away. Baba, watching them both, read both their hearts; but her tightened lips let no sound escape them.
By the time that Bazuzu's shoulder was bandaged and bound up, and Charmides, stung to silence, had seated himself on his bed and bowed his head, Beltani bustled forth from her chamber, her face beaming, her whole manner breathing busy cheerfulness. As she called a loud greeting to Charmides, the youth started up in hopeful astonishment. Beltani was on her way up-stairs to the roof, however, to begin preparations for breakfast; and no one spoke as she left the room. Ramûa seated herself listlessly on Bazuzu's bed, and Baba presently went to her and sat down at her side. Bazuzu, after moving vaguely about for a few minutes, crossed suddenly to the far corner and drew out the basket of flowers, now arranged in small nosegays, and sprinkled, as usual, with fresh water. At sight of them Ramûa gave a faint groan, and Charmides, hearing it, jumped suddenly to his feet, strode across the floor, and confronted the two girls in a manner that showed his temper:
"Baba—Ramûa—I know not my fault. Before I leave you, then, you shall tell me what it has been. Speak to me!"
Ramûa's only reply was to droop her head a little lower; but Baba answered and said: "There is no fault in you, Charmides. Our trouble is not yours."
"What, then, is your trouble? Why is it not mine? Your mother smiles to-day. Is it Bazuzu, then?"
"Nay."
"Then what? What? Will you never tell me?"