ove her.

"Why!" said Leonie, frowning till her straight brows met as she pressed
the palms against her temples, "why, you used to sing that in--in--you
used to call me--in the name of all the gods, woman, tell me--help me,
oh! help me to understand!"

Great tears stood in the native woman's eyes, and she opened her mouth
to speak, then turned her head slightly and looked towards the chick
which had rustled; scowled, and bowing her head ever so little placed
the palm of her hand against her forehead for an instant.

"Won't you or _can't_ you speak?" said Leonie almost roughly, her voice
ending on a sharp note which changed to a little bubbling uncanny laugh
as she sat back on the bed holding her ayah at arm's length.

She took no notice of the dressing-bell when it clanged throughout the
building, nor of the swish of the water as it was heaved into the tin
bath in the bathroom, but sat on with the plaits of her hair coiled
like snakes on each side of her, and the whiteness of her bare arms and
shoulders shining in the light from the bathroom.

"Ayah! ayah!" she said in a dull sing-song sort of way, "do you know
what they say? Do you know what they think? They think, they say I'm
_mad_! And do you know I think I am. Sometimes there's the sound of
drums in my brain, great big drums beaten by giants, and sometimes the
sound of bells. And the sound of the bells is hot, it burns great
scars on--on--and there are hours for which I can't account, and cuts
and bruises on my feet and--and----"

Very quietly the native woman rose, and passing one arm behind the bare
shoulder drew a hand across the low broad forehead, singing in her own
tongue so softly as to be almost inaudible.

"I dream of blood, ayah," went on Leonie, "so often--so often--it is
warm to the fingers and drops so--so slowly--and----"

The ayah pressed her fingers a little as she drew them behind the ears
to the nape of the neck, and raised her voice ever so slightly in the
Vega chant she had learnt as a lullaby.

"The women," she crooned, "that are lying on a bench, lying on a couch,
lying in a litter; the women that--are--of--pure odour--all--of them
we--make--sleep!"

The cracked voice sank suddenly as her child's face softened and
relaxed, but the dark hand passed to and fro ceaselessly above the eyes
and down behind the ears.

"It walks so softly, ayah--it's--it's in that--corner now--look! can't
you see--its--its eyes--and the small--light-