As the music ceased, the crowd began moving toward the gates, and soon after, quiet reigned supreme.
Yermah gained courage from the unfailing kindness shown him everywhere. It loosed his tongue, and he longed to talk of his hopes and plans. Lover-like, he was tormented with curiosity concerning the minutiæ of Kerœcia’s life; so he lingered the greater portion of the next day at her house.
These two indulged in the dearest, sweetest possible exchange of confidences. The revelations they made amounted to nothing in themselves, yet were priceless treasures to the recipients.
Halting sentences, eloquent silences, phrases broken by kisses sweeter than honey of Hybla, explanations emphasized by a caressing touch of the hand, tones and accents whose inner meaning was made plain by a love-lit eye, all the sweet nothings talked heart-to-heart by lovers gave them several hours of unalloyed happiness.
“I am of the same descent as thou art, my beloved,” said Kerœcia, as Yermah drew her head toward him, and kissed the hair where it parted on her forehead.
“How art thou related to me except by the silken cords of affection?” he asked, ready to indulge her for the sake of hearing her talk.
“Because years ago, my ancestry came from Atlantis.”
“Very true, the Ians were originally from Atlantis, but they have long made war on Nimrod’s descendants.”
“Oppression and ill-use drove them to rebellion. They were forbidden to worship as I do, and for this reason they set themselves free.”
“I went directly to Nineveh, a callow youth, ungainly, beardless and without discretion—”