Under the great cork-tree, where the grass was long and damp, and the wood grew thickly, and an old rude bridge of unhewn blocks of rock spanned, with one arch, the river as it rushed downward from its limestone bed aloft, they found a woman just dead and a child just born.
Quità looked the woman all over hastily, to see if, by any chance, any gold or jewels might be on her; there were none. There was only an ivory cross on her chest, which Quità drew off and hid. Quità covered her with a few boughs and left her.
Zarâ wrapped the child in a bit of her woolen skirt, and held it warm in her breast, and hastened to the camp with it.
"She is dead, Taric," said Quità, meaning the woman she had left.
He nodded his handsome head.
"This is yours, Taric?" said Zarâ, meaning the child she held.
He nodded again, and drank another drop of wine, and stretched himself.
"What shall we do with her?" asked Quità.
"Let her lie there," he answered her.
"What shall we do with it?" asked Zarâ.