"Hush! Shut your eyes! Put your head back in the straw and go to sleep. When it is time for the dance I will wake you. I will sit here close beside you and watch, as you watched over me. Shut your eyes, Velasco."
"Won't you—Kaya?"
"Go to sleep, Velasco—hush!"
"If I shut my eyes—will you?"
"Hush!"
The sun-beams danced on the dusty floor and the light came dimly through the cobwebs. Velasco lay with his arm under his head, his young limbs stretched in the straw, asleep. He murmured and tossed uneasily. There was a flush on his face; his dark hair fell over his brows and teased him, and he flung it back, half unconscious.
Kaya covered him with the blanket, kneeling beside him in the straw. She moved without rustling, drawing it in softly, and smoothing the straw with her fingers.
"It is my fault that he is lying here in a loft," she whispered low to herself, "He does it for me! His hands have been frozen—for me! They were so white, and firm, and supple; and now—they are scratched and swollen!"
She gave a frightened glance about the loft, and then bent over him, holding back a fold of the blanket.
"He is asleep!" she breathed, "He will never know!"