Yet, at the moment, from high up in the carved crevices of the arch, floated down the low, strange wail of wind--a knell indeed for all that had gone.
Venters, sighing, gathered up an armful of pottery, such pieces as he thought strong enough and suitable for his own use, and bent his steps toward camp.

He mounted the terrace at an opposite point to which he had left.

He saw the girl looking in the direction he had gone.

His footsteps made no sound in the deep grass, and he approached close without her being aware of his presence.

Whitie lay on the ground near where she sat, and he manifested the usual actions of welcome, but the girl did not notice them.