And, I once supposed, were the Queen of Sheba herself to pass me in a slattern's rags, only her rags could I ever see, for all her beauty.
But how was it now with me that, from the very first, I had been first conscious of this maid herself, then of her rags.

How was it that I felt no charity, nor pity of that sort, only a vague desire that she should understand me better--know that I meant her kindness--God knows what I wished of her, and why her grey eyes haunted me, and why I could not seem to put her from my mind.
That now she fully possessed my mind I convinced myself was due to my very natural curiosity concerning her; forgetting that a week ago I should not have condescended to curiosity.
Who and what was she?
She had been schooled; that was plain in voice and manner.

And, though she used me with scant courtesy, I was convinced she had been schooled in manners, too, and was no stranger to usages and customs which mark indelibly where birth and breeding do not always.
Why was she here?
Why alone?
Where were her natural protectors then?
What would be her fate a-gypsying through a land blackened with war, or haunting camps and forts, penniless, in rags--and her beauty ever a flaming danger to herself, despite her tatters and because of them.
I slept at last; I do not know how long.

The stars still glittered overhead when I awoke, remembered, and suddenly sat upright.
She was gone.

I might have known it.