“But I must! I’ve a mission. I want to curse the memory of the recreant Lusignan, the coward ‘King of Jerusalem;’ he that clandestinely stole away from Acre on the eve of those last days!”
“But, father, Cyprus is called the ‘horned island.’ I do not like the name!”
“I’ve heard it better named, ‘the blessed isle.’ There the hospitable knights had a refuge for pilgrims, and it still abides.”
Just then some of the sailors cried, “Olympus!” They had caught sight of that ancient mountain, the fabled home of the gods.
Miriamne adroitly used the cry to divert her father’s mind, saying:
“Let those admire Olympus who will; as for me, I prefer holy, fragrant Lebanon.”
She pointed eastward, and they saw the dim outlines of Palestine’s famous range. The knight’s attention was fixed on Lebanon, and they sailed past Cyprus quietly without further objection on his part.
Miriamne and Cornelius, as the night began to settle down, stood together by the ship’s side, feasting on glimpses of the distant shore. There were signs of a coming storm, perceived intuitively by those accustomed to the sea, by the young watchers best discerned in the anxious looks of the seamen.
“The captain says the sky and sea are preparing for a duel. You noticed how the blue changed to dark brown in the water this afternoon? He says that, and the muddy appearance of the sky, betoken a tempest.”
“How like polished silver the wings of those gulls glisten as they career!” was the maiden’s ecstatic reply.