“He is one of those of the god Quetzalcoatl, Señorita.”
“And you? are you one too?”
“Who knows!” said the man, putting his head on one side. Then he added: “I think so. We are many.”
He watched Kate’s face with that gleaming, intense semi-abstraction, a gleam that hung unwavering in his black eyes, and which suddenly reminded Kate of the morning star, or the evening star, hanging perfect between night and the sun.
“You have the morning star in your eyes,” she said to the man.
He flashed her a smile of extraordinary beauty.
“The Señorita understands,” he said.
His face changed again to a dark-brown mask, like semi-transparent stone, and he rowed with all his might. Ahead, the river was widening, the banks were growing lower, down to the water’s level, like shoals planted with willow trees and with reeds. Above the willow trees a square white sail was standing, as if erected on the land.
“Is the lake so near?” said Kate.
The man hastily mopped his running wet face.