"Sleep struck you that sudden blow, you poor Gaspard!" said Morgana, "And you have not slept so long—barely an hour—just long enough for me to hover a while above this black desert and then turn homeward,—I want no more of the Sahara!"
Rivardi, smarting under a sense of loss and incompetency, went up to her.
"Give me the helm!" he said, almost sharply—"You have done enough!"
She resigned her place to him, smiling at his irritation.
"You are sure you are quite rested?" she asked.
"Rested!" he echoed the word disdainfully—"I should never have rested at all had I been half the man I profess to be! Why do you turn back? I thought you were bent on exploring the Great Desert!—that you meant to try and find the traditional Brazen City?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I do not like the prospect"—she said—"There is nothing but sand—interminable billows of sand! I can well believe it was all ocean once,—when the earth gave a sudden tilt, and all the water was thrown off from one surface to another. If we could dig deep enough below the sand I think we should find remains of wrecked ships, with the skeletons of antediluvian men and animals, remains of one of the many wasted civilisations—"
"You do not answer me—" interrupted Rivardi with impatience—"What of your search for the Brazen City?"
She raised her lovely, mysterious eyes and looked full at him.