visit to a prospective mother-in-law is by no means an unimportant step.
If it is accompanied by a present it bears the character of an official
acceptance of courtship. That step Mitsha was afraid as yet to take; it
was too early; there were too many contingencies in the way.

Still she longed to go to Say Koitza now. But visits of condolence are
not in vogue among Indians as long as there is loud mourning, except at
the house where the mourning is going on. How much Mitsha would have
given to be permitted to go to Say, sit down quietly in a corner, and
modestly and without speaking a word, weep in her company. At the same
time she felt another longing. Since the night of the murder Okoya had
of course not been to see her, and she naturally longed to meet him also
in this hour of sadness and trial. Once when she had gone to the brook
for water, Zashue had crossed her path; but he looked so dark and
frowning that she did not venture even to greet him.

It was the last day of mourning, and nearly everybody at the Rito who
could or ought had paid his respects to the dead. The Chayani of lesser
rank alone returned from time to time to perform specially strong
incantations in aid of the still travelling soul. Mitsha had gone down
to the brook to get water. It occurred only once a day during these
days, for the people of Tyame fasted, taking but one frugal meal daily.
Everybody was very careful also not to wash, and Mitsha herself was as
unkempt as any one else of her clan.

Bearing the huashtanyi on her head, she was returning, when as she
passed the corner of the big house her eyes discovered a man standing
with his back turned to her, gazing at the cliffs. He seemed to face the
dwellings of the Eagle clan. As the girl approached, the noise of her
step caused him to turn, and she recognized Okoya.

The youth stepped up to her; his eyes were hollow, and now they became
moist. He attempted to control himself, to restrain the tears that were
coming to his eyes at the sight of her; but he sobbed convulsively. When
she saw it tears came to her eyes at once. The two children stood there,
he struggling to hide his grief, for it was unmanly to weep, and yet he
was young and could not control his feelings; she, as a woman, feeling
at liberty to weep. She wept, but silently and modestly. It grieved her
to see him shed tears.

He, too, felt for her; but it was soothing to his own grief that Mitsha
mourned. He too was longing to