A small strand he
divided into three parts and began weaving into a silken thread
only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From, the woven
tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up
with understanding.
She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the
tress from her head that had gone into the making of the golden
snare. And not only one tress, but several. There had been a
number of golden snares. She bowed her head and showed him where
strands as large as her little finger had been clipped in several
places.
Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new, except
that there had been many snares instead of one.
He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him
silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement--a wild
inspiration. She held out her hands until they nearly touched his
breast.
"Philip Raine--Amerika!" she cried.
Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly:
"Celie Armin--Danmark!"
"Denmark!" exclaimed Philip.
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