He felt a strange impatience within him at her advance.

Confused thoughts rushed through his head, disordered, shapeless, stunning.

Then he heard his own voice asking-- "Who are you ?" "I am the daughter of the blind Omar," she answered, in a low but steady tone.

"And you," she went on, a little louder, "you are the white trader--the great man of this place." "Yes," said Willems, holding her eyes with his in a sense of extreme effort, "Yes, I am white." Then he added, feeling as if he spoke about some other man, "But I am the outcast of my people." She listened to him gravely.

Through the mesh of scattered hair her face looked like the face of a golden statue with living eyes.