"Oh, but, gentle Mulla-mulgar," said the Midden, "my hands are cold; they might put out its fiery flame."
"I do not think so, most beautiful Midden," Nod said. "Show me your fingers, and let me see."
Both sly tiny hands, colder than ice-water, the beautiful Water-midden outstretched towards him. He gazed, stooping out of his ugliness, into those eyes whose darkness was only shadowy green, clearer than the mountain-water. For an instant he waited, then he shut his eyes and put the burning Wonderstone into those two small icy hands. "Return it to me quickly—quickly, Midden, or Tishnar will be angered against me. How must the Meermut of my mother now be mourning!"
But the Midden had drawn back amid the reeds, holding tight the ruby-red stone in her small hands, and her eyes looked all darkened and slant, and her small scarlet mouth was curled. "Can you not trust me but a moment, Prince of the Mulgars?"
And suddenly a loud, hoarse voice broke out: "Nod ho, Nod ho! Ulla ulla! Nod ho!" Nod started back.
"Oh, Midden, Midden!" he said, "it is my brother, Mulla Thumma, calling me. Give me my Wonderstone; I must go at once."
But the Midden was now rocking and floating on the shadowy water, her bright hair sleeking the stream behind her. Her face was all small mischief. "Let me make magic but once," said she, "and I will return it. Stop, Prince Ummanodda Nizzanares Eengeneela!"
"I cannot wait, not wait. Have pity on me, most beautiful Midden. I did but put it into your hands for friendship's sake. Return it to me now. Tishnar listens."
"Ummanodda! Ahôh, ahôh, ahôh!" bawled Thumb's harsh voice, coming nearer.
"Oh, harsh and angry voice," cried the Midden, "it frightens me—it frightens me. To-morrow, in the night-time, Mulla-mulgar, come again. I will guard and keep your Wonderstone. Call me, call me. I will come."