Love, I am here in the dark, but to-morrow I shall see the day in your face,
I shall see the noon in your eyes, I shall look upon the sun in your hair.
Over the water, the blue water, the water both salt and fresh——
Once more the voice died away and the faint plash of oars told Zoë that the message was all delivered, and that Gorlias was gone, on his way downstream.
Zeno, whose maternal tongue was not Greek, could not be supposed to understand much of the song, for unfamiliar words sung to such ancient melodies can only be caught by native-born ears, and sharp ones at that. At a signal from Zoë, the maid shut the window again, and drew the curtains.
'Could you understand the fellow?' Zeno asked, glad in reality that the conversation had been interrupted.
'Yes,' Zoë answered lightly, 'as you would understand an Italian fisherman, I suppose. The man gave you a message, my lord. Shall I interpret what he said?'
'Can you?' He laughed a little.
'He tells you that if you will not try to force Arethusa to keep away from the window to-morrow, she will probably do as you wish—probably!'
'Your friend must have good ears!' Zeno smiled. 'But then he only said "probably." That is not a promise.'