University of Virginia Library

II. Part II.

The forest was dark at noon-day; the wild beasts came forth from their lairs;

But not as they come forth at midnight, when the wood wakes to life and tumult; all was silent as the grave;

Only from the distance was a crash heard, as of a giant tree that fell.

And in the heart of the gloomy forest, where the pine-boughs cast their thickest shade,

A red light shone and flickered, like the gleaming of a cruel eye;

Where the fires of death were kindled, dark forms flitted round an open space.

In the midst of it was a captive bound to a stake; the young braves taunted him in their songs.

I know not if he saw their fierce gestures, or heard their loud insulting cries.

He had been, like them, a warrior; yet he was silent: it was not of them he thought.

And through the dull clangour of the tombés, the fierce roll and beat of the drums,

He stood, without word or movement. The Fleka dance begun.

Swift and stealthy were the movements of the dancers, like the weaving of a muttered charm:

It wove round him in mazy circles, that drew ever more close and close;

Like the winding coil of a serpent, that tightens before it strikes.

And she who led it was a woman, strangely and richly clad.

The air was dark with arrows, when suddenly one flashed forth,

That was buried in the captive's breast. I know not from whose hand it came.

And at that moment his eye met her's; long sought for, and found at last.

In his look was no rebuke nor question: it left her not while life remained;

Nor did it change in its steadfast meaning; it had but one word to say:

“Thou,” it said to her, and “thou” she answered. She, too, had no other word to speak.

She thought not of the cruel arrow; she remembered not that she stood among his foes.

Her gaze was, like his, unshrinking. How shall I speak of what their look told?

None like it hath been exchanged between earth and heaven. It was recognition, and therefore love.