Also in her hand she held a little silver spear.
I stared at her, for move I could not. Then remembering my crazy talk
with Kari, uttered one word, only one. It was--_Quilla_.
She bowed her head and answered in a voice soft as the murmur of the
wind through rushes, speaking in the rich language called Quichua that
Kari had taught me. In this tongue, as I have told, we talked together
for practice during our journeys and on the island. So that now I knew
it well.
"So indeed am I named after my mother, the 'Moon,'" she said. "But how
did you know it, O Wanderer, whose skin is white as the foam of the sea
and whose hair is yellow as the fine gold in the temples?"
"I think you must have told me when you knelt over me just now," I said.
I saw the red blood run to her brow, but she only shook her head, and
answered:
"Nay, my mother, the Moon, must have told you; or perchance you learned
it in the spirit. At least, Quilla am I named and you called me aright."
Now I stood up and stared at her, overcome by the strangeness of the
business, and she stared at me.
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