On berries and kisses could I live always,
Till Fate destroyed us,
And robbed us of berries, and kisses, and life forever.”
“I’ve heard him singing that song at Melnos,” muttered Crispin quietly to himself. “It is he! What can he be doing here?”
At this moment the singer came in sight, walking rapidly up the avenue with a springy step, swinging his stick to and fro as he sang. He was indeed a sight worth looking at, as he bounded lightly over the earth, Antæus-like, drawing fresh vigor at every pressure of his foot on the ground; yet his undeniable beauty but excited a feeling of repulsion in the breast of Crispin, who now knew him only too well. They were a strange contrast, these two men: the poet small, dark, and unhandsome, but the fire of intellect in his eyes; the adventurer a splendid animal, with nothing but his physical perfections to recommend him.
Caliphronas did not notice the poet leaning against the tree, and came on, carelessly singing as he walked,—
“What will I do for thee, beloved?
Oh, I will do many deeds of daring!
I will slay the Turk in his pride,
And his head will be my wedding gift.