She disappeared into the barge and returned with the pillow and cloak. She covered him up and pushed the pillow under his head.
“The night is strange,” he repeated, “and unreal. It is like a white day. There is no dew falling. I shall remain here till Thrasyllus comes. But do you stay. I feel ill and lonely.”
“What can I do, my lord? I may not sing: only the sistrum may sound to-night.”
“Dance to me; move in the moonlight. Can you dance without accompaniment?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Cora.
He lay under the palms. Cora danced in the open moonlight, near the tall river-reeds. She twisted and turned like a white water-nymph that had risen from the stream. She stood still, in attitudes of rapture. She adored Isis, her hands uplifted to the moon. She was very lithe and slender, very white, with white flowers and ears of wheat around her temples.
He lay without moving, watching her. And he thought his only thought: where could Ilia be? For there had not been more than one pirate....
When, late in the night, Thrasyllus returned, he found Lucius asleep under the palms with Cora keeping vigil beside him.
“My lord is asleep,” said Cora. And she asked, “Tell me, Thrasyllus: what did Nemu-Pha say?”
The old tutor looked gloomy. And he said: