eyes.

Desperately she raised her voice. Only a panting, breathless plaint
quavered over the dumb, unreplying rocks. The sea licked its yellow,
hungry tongues below.

At the door of the frame house Annadoah paused and still without losing
hope again essayed to call. Her voice broke. The house was
undoubtedly vacant. There was no reply.

She bent her head to listen. She could hardly hear because of the
pound of blood in her ears.

Surely he had come--did he not say he would come in the spring?

She tried the door. It was locked.

She beat it frenziedly with her fists. She beat it until her fingers
bled.

Then she threw her body against it like a mad thing. With crooked
fingers she clawed savagely at the wood. At last she quelled the
tumult in her bosom and found voice.

"Olafaksoah--Olafaksoah--Olafaksoah--_ioh-h-h_! _Ioh-h-h_!" she
screamed. She sank to her knees and pounded at the door-sill with her
fists.

When the native tribesmen, furious at her flight, at her temerity in
trying to evade their inviolable law, clambered up the cliff, they saw
a dark, stark figure lying still before the door of the box-house.
Their voices rose in a raucous clamor.

Like wolves descending eagerly upon their prey they bore down upon the
unconscious woman. Some of the women of the tribe had accompanied
them. Their voices rose with eager, glad calls to vengeance; they
demanded the life of Annadoah's child without delay. The shrill howl
of their dogs was mingled in that vindictive, savage chorus.

"Little Blind Spring Bunting," Annadoah murmured, awakened from her
trance by the approaching calls.

Opening her eyes she saw the troop descending. Staggering to her feet
she stood with her back against the door, facing the clamoring crowd
defiantly. In their veins the savage blood of fierce centuries was
aroused, in Annadoah's heart all the primitive ferocity of maternal
protection.

They surrounded her. The struggle was brief. In a moment--while
strong hands held her--they cut the sinew lashing and rudely tore the
baby from its hood. Annadoah fell back, half-stunned, against the
floor; in their midst the merciless howling natives had the helpless
infant.

As they bore it over the promontory Annadoah uttered a savage, snarling
cry, as of a mountain wolf robbed of its youngling, and furiously
rushed after them.

Grasping hold of two of the men, she piteously begged them to give her
the child. She made