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Updated: June 2, 2025
It was splendid for her to brave the fire-god, but no living soul dared face the Holy Shrine with the scorn Zura's face and manner so plainly showed. Admiration melted into distrust. They would wait and see the end. One by one my host, his mother, wife and daughter passed before the relic and reverently bowed. It was Zura's turn.
Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply. At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate.
Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances stood proof against Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a passion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been keepers of this place.
He was soon gone. "Where's Pink Tommy?" cried Zura, as I entered the living-room. "Where's Mr. Hanaford?" I questioned back. "Why, he took his book and left. Didn't you say he was in a hurry?" "Yes, I did; so was Mr. Chalmers. He left good-by!" "Good-by?" In Zura's question there was much annoyance and some anger. Jane chimed in. "Both the boys gone? What a pity! I've just made a relly joll."
"And," declared the troubled man, "if she does not render obedience I will reduce her to bread and water, and subject her to a lonely place, till she comprehends who is the master and acknowledges filial piety." I protested that such a measure would only urge to desperation a girl of Zura's temperament and that, to my mind, people could not be made good by law, but by love.
This he told the onlookers was spirit powder. Sprinkling a part of it on the fire and rubbing his feet with what was left he would cross the live coals, arriving at the other end unharmed. His swaggering air, indicating "I am divinely protected," deeply impressed the wondering crowd. Absorbed in watching the fantastic scene, I failed for some time to notice Zura's absence from my side.
"Is he dead?" she demanded, as we came closer. "No. But he's desperately ill and under arrest," I hurriedly added. "Oh, but he's alive; nothing else matters. Come on; my room is ready." Before I could protest, she had given orders to the men, and Zura's bedroom was soon converted from a girlish habitation into a dwelling place where life and death waged contest.
But his feebleness was no match for Zura's young strength, and as she held him she would begin to sing: "Before I slept I thought of thee; Then fell asleep and sought for thee And found thee: Had I but known 'twas only seeming, I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming." "Dreaming, dreaming," the boy would repeat. "Sweetheart, you are my dearest dream."
He neither sought to conceal what he felt, nor to stem the tide which was fast sweeping him he knew not nor cared not whither so long as his eyes might rest upon the dearness of Zura's face, as with folded feet and hands she sat on a low cushion, the dull red fire reflecting its glory in the gold embroidery of her gown. There had been a long silence.
I absorbed every moment seeking comprehension of youthful ways of looking at things, and in Zura's effort to reduce her wild gallop to a sober pace, the way was as rough for the girl, as the climb up the mountain side was for me. Often she stumbled and was bruised in the fall. Brushing aside the tears of discouragement she pluckily faced about and tried again.
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