With an air of sardonic gloom, Frontin departed, and disappeared in a thick grove of trees. Crawford perceived that this cliff was a blunt point on the end of a long promontory jutting out above the lake. The little open space at the end, where he lay beneath the twisted pine, was solidly closed in by trees. Crawford was staring out over the lake again when a quick, soft step made him turn, brought him to his feet. So he saw the Star Woman for the first time and stood astounded, silent; the sunset glow softened the sharp contour of his face, kindled a flame in his hair, quickened the deep blue of his eyes and the vibrant energy of him, so that she stared likewise as though beholding him for the first time. To his absolute bewilderment, Crawford saw in her the actual person visioned by Moses Deakin, and the memory stabbed him. This was no ancient sorceress, no Indian hag nor even woman--but a slender girl, a creature all blue and gold, her skin white and golden, her eyes great pools of gold-flecked lapis, her hair brighter than the flame of sun, her fawnskin dress a rich unbeaded yellow. Between her breasts hung by its thong a huge star of hammered silver, all set with turquoise, stones of purest unflecked blue. Yet it was not the sheer beauty of her that held him awed, but the calm serenity that shone from her. Suddenly her face changed, as though her astonishment was past. Crawford became sensible of the peculiarly piercing quality of her gaze, and he was disconcerted to find it not entirely friendly. When she addressed him in French, he could not mistake her attitude of quiet aloofness. “I am glad you have recovered.” “You are--you are the Star Woman?” murmured Crawford. “Impossible! Perrot said----” “Perrot--Metaminens!” For an instant her face softened, became radiant and glorious; a sudden deep eagerness leaped in her eyes, an eagerness not untouched by pain. Then again she regarded him with that cool and aloof gaze. “How does he look? He is old?” “Some men never grow old.” Crawford was confused, staggered by all this. Surely this was not the woman Perrot had seen thirty years ago! He stood silent, wondering. “What is your errand here?” she asked quietly. “I have talked with your friend Frontin, I know how you tricked Standing Bull into delivering my message to the wrong man, I know with what obstinate pertinacity you have fought across the wilderness to reach me--but why?” “To see you,” said Crawford, and under her steady gaze, words failed him for an instant. Then he rallied. “That is to say----”