Part 16 (2/2)

”One could not miss--a hero!” she said, flaming.

”That, then, shall be our bargain,” I replied with wrath at my own folly. ”Tell me this precious hero's name, and though all the dogs of the underworld come to course me, you shall take my boat, and leave me here--only this hero's name, a pedlar's bargain!”

She lowered her lids. ”It must be Diomed,” she said with the least sigh.

”It must be,” I said.

”Nay, then, Antenor, or truly Thersites,” she said happily, ”the silver-tongued!”

”Good-bye, then,” I said.

”Good-bye,” she replied very gently. ”Why, how could there be a vow between us? I go, and return. You await me--me, Criseyde, Traveller, the lonely-hearted. That is the little all, O much-surrendering Stranger! Would that long-ago were now--before all chaffering!”

Again a thousand questions rose to my tongue. She looked sidelong at the dry fountain, and one and all fell silent.

”It is harsh, endless labour beneath the burning sun; storms and whirlwinds go about the sea, and the deep heaves with monsters.”

”Oh, sweet danger!” she said, mocking me.

I turned from her without a word, like an angry child, and made my way to the steps into the sea, pulled round my boat into a little haven beside them, and shewed her oars and tackle and tiller; all the toil, and peril, the wild chances.”

”Why,” she cried, while I was yet full of the theme, ”I will go then at once, and to-morrow Troy will come.”

I looked long at her in silence; her slim beauty, the answerless riddle of her eyes, the age-long subtilty of her mouth, and gave no more thought to all life else.

Day was already waning. I filled the water-keg with fresh water, put fruit and honeycomb and a pillow of leaves into the boat, proffered a trembling hand, and led her down.

The sun's beams slanted on the foamless sea, glowed in a flame of crimson on marble and rock and cypress. The birds sang endlessly on of evening, endlessly, too, it seemed to me, of dangers my heart had no surmise of.

Criseyde turned from the dark green waves. ”Truly, it is a solitary country; pathless,” she said, ”to one unpiloted;” and stood listening to the hollow voices of the water. And suddenly, as if at the consummation of her thoughts, she lifted her eyes on me, darkly, with unimaginable entreaty.

”What do you seek else?” I cried in a voice I scarcely recognised.

”Oh, you speak in riddles!”

I sprang into the boat and seized the heavy oars. Something like laughter, or, as it were, the clapper of a scarer of birds, echoed among the rocks at the rattling of the rowlocks. As if invisible hands withdrew it from me, the island floated back.

I turned my prow towards the last splendour of the sun. A chill breeze played over the sea: a shadow crossed my eyes.

Buoyant was my boat; how light her cargo!--an oozing honeycomb, ashy fruits, a few branches of drooping leaves, closing flowers; and solitary on the thwart the wraith of life's unquiet dream.

So fell night once more, and made all dim. And only the cold light of the firmament lit thoughts in me restless as the sea on which I tossed, whose moon was dark, yet walked in heaven beneath the distant stars.

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