“Look,” he said, pointing, “there is the sea.”
They both looked out. Around them stretched the forests, all shadow and denseness and gloom and loneliness and mystery. On one horizon, gleaming darkly in the night, lay the line of the sea, the Arabian Gulf, the Erythræan or Red Sea.
“The sea,” she stammered. “Yes, the sea, I love it too. I always had it around me, at Cos. I also miss it in the forest, as you do, my lord.”
“To-morrow we shall reach the sea again, Cora.... Cora, I want you, to-night, this last night ... to dance to me ... here, in the starlight.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the slave.
She danced. She softly hummed a tune between scarce-parted lips. The thin folds of her garment flew to either side; and with her veils she mimicked the movements of birds’ wings. She hovered round and round on the upland, circling like a swallow.
He stepped towards her; and she ceased dancing.
“Cora,” he said, “to-morrow we shall be at Dire, by the pillars of Sesostris. On the opposite side are Ebal and Usal and Saba, Caleb’s country, to which he wants to return when he is rich.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Cora, if you are really fond of Caleb, I will resign you to him.”