“Aryenis would never leave this country of her birth,” he said. “She loves every tree and every flower, every hill and every stream, here. Sometimes I think she is the vital essence of it.”
I jumped nearly out of my chair at his words, and I’m sure he saw it.
“Of that I am certain,” he went on. “Whoever marries her will have to live in our country.”
“You mean she would not marry into one of the other clans,” said I, not meaning that at all.
“Yes; perhaps I meant that, and also other things as well.”
“Are you a magician, Paulos?”
“Harilek,” said he, very gently, laying his hand on my knee, “if reading thoughts be magic, perhaps I am a magician. Your thoughts are very transparent to an old man like me, one who makes it his hobby to understand his fellows. I would sometimes that I could read Aryenis’s thoughts as easily as some other folk’s.”
“Then, since you can read my thoughts, you may be able to read that home to me would be wherever Aryenis is.”
“That, lad, I read the first time you came here. I know nothing of you, save that you saved her at the risk of your own life. But I can see clearly that you are of our own class, and, since I have long judged men, I know that your speech is true.”
“And suppose, Paulos, that such a one as I—a stranger—were to make a bid for Aryenis’s favour, and suppose by some miracle I got it, what, then?”