“Wilt thou spin?” asked her companion, placing a seat for her.
With girlish eagerness and gratified pride, Kerœcia sat down so intent upon a display of dexterity and skill that she was unconscious of the fact that her soft clinging skirts were tightly drawn over one leg the entire length, and high enough to reveal the ankle and instep to good advantage. With the other foot she set the treadle going, and soon her shapely arms were following the flying shuttle. The well-poised head, the long, slender throat, and the regular rise and fall of a perfect bosom helped to complete the poetry of her motions, and Yermah feasted his eyes while she worked.
Glancing upward by chance, Kerœcia caught the expression of his face, but was by no means displeased because she saw desire mirrored there.
Who can resist the intoxication of the senses?—especially their instinctive pledge, which does not rise to the mental plane, but is merely a matter of exquisite feeling on both sides.
In his agitation, Yermah busied himself clumsily with the spider-web threads, and soon had them hopelessly entangled. He was so genuinely distressed when they broke that his companion hastily put the wheel away and substituted an instrument like the zither, only much larger, played with thimbles of tortoise-shell fastened to the fingers.
Kerœcia sang a plaintive love-song to her own accompaniment. When she had finished, Yermah sat down beside her and slipped his arm around her waist.
“Something in thy song makes me sad. Tell me again that thou wilt be happy as my wife.”
She patted his cheek tenderly and gave the assurance.
“And wilt thou pray that children may bless and sweeten our lives together?”
Kneeling beside him, she promised. Seeing that he was still in a serious mood, she said soothingly: