It was evening; and as the red sun, magnified, launched into the wave, once more, from a wild strand, we launched our three canoes.
Soon, from her clouds, hooded Night, like a nun from a convent, drew nigh. Rustled her train, yet no spangles were there. But high on her brow, still shone her pale crescent; haloed by bandelets—violet, red, and yellow. So looked the lone watcher through her rainbow-iris; so sad, the night without stars.
The winds were laid; the lagoon, still, as a prairie of an August noon.
“Let us dream out the calm,” said Media. “One of ye paddlers, watch: Ho companions! who’s for Cathay?”
Sleep reigned throughout the canoes, sleeping upon the waters. But nearer and nearer, low-creeping along, came mists and vapors, a thousand; spotted with twinklings of Will-o-Wisps from neighboring shores. Dusky leopards, stealing on by crouches, those vapors seemed.
Hours silently passed. When startled by a cry, Taji sprang to his feet; against which something rattled; then, a quick splash! and a dark form bounded into the lagoon.
The dozing watcher had called aloud; and, about to stab, the assassin, dropping his stiletto, plunged.
Peering hard through those treacherous mists, two figures in a shallop, were espied; dragging another, dripping, from the brine.
“Foiled again, and foiled forever. No foe’s corpse was I.”
As we gazed, in the gloom quickly vanished the shallop; ere ours could be reversed to pursue.