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.She drew back her head and fastened her eyes on his in one of those long looks that are a woman's most terrible weapon; a look that is more stirring than the closest touch, and more dangerous than the thrust of a dagger, because it also whips the soul out of the body, but leaves the body alive and helpless, to be swayed here and there by the capricious tempests of passion and desire; a look that enwraps the whole body, and that penetrates into the innermost recesses of the being, bringing terrible defeat in the delirious uplifting of accomplished conquest.It has the same meaning for the man of the forests and the sea as for the man threading the paths of the more dangerous wilderness of houses and streets.Men that had felt in their breasts the awful exultation such a look awakens become mere things of to-day – which is paradise; forget yesterday – which was suffering; care not for to-morrow – which may be perdition.They wish to live under that look for ever.It is the look of woman's surrender.He understood, and, as if suddenly released from his invisible bonds, fell at her feet with a shout of joy, and, embracing her knees, hid his head in the folds of her dress, murmuring disjointed words of gratitude and love.Never before had he felt so proud as now, when at the feet of that woman that half belonged to his enemies.Her fingers played with his hair in an absentminded caress as she stood absorbed in thought.The thing was done.Her mother was right.The man was her slave.As she glanced down at his kneeling form she felt a great pitying tenderness for that man she was used to call – even in her thoughts – the master of life.She lifted her eyes and looked sadly at the southern heavens under which lay the path of their lives – her own, and that man's at her feet.Did he not say himself that she was the light of his life? She would be his light and his wisdom; she would be his greatness and his strength; yet hidden from the eyes of all men she would be, above all, his only and lasting weakness.A very woman! In the sublime vanity of her kind she was thinking already of moulding a god from the clay at her feet.A god for others to worship.She was content to see him as he was now, and to feel him quiver at the slightest touch of her light fingers.And while her eyes looked sadly at the southern stars a faint smile seemed to be playing about her firm lips.Who can tell in the fitful light of a camp fire? It might have been a smile of triumph, or of conscious power, or of tender pity, or, perhaps, of love.She spoke softly to him, and he rose to his feet, putting his arm round her in quiet consciousness of his ownership; she laid her head on his shoulder with a sense of defiance to all the world in the encircling protection of that arm.He was hers with all his qualities and his faults.His strength and his courage, his recklessness and his daring, his simple wisdom and his savage cunning – all were hers.As they passed together out of the red light of the fire into the silver shower of rays that fell upon the clearing he bent his head over her face, and she saw in his eyes the dreamy intoxication of boundless felicity from the close touch of her slight figure clasped to his side.With a rhythmical swing of their bodies they walked through the light towards the outlying shadows of the forests that seemed to guard their happiness in solemn immobility.Their forms melted in the play of light and shadow at the foot of the big trees, but the murmur of tender words lingered over the empty clearing, grew faint, and died out.A sigh as of immense sorrow passed over the land in the last effort of the dying breeze, and in the deep silence which succeeded, the earth and the heavens were suddenly hushed up in the mournful contemplation of human love and human blindness.They walked slowly back to the fire.He made for her a seat out of the dry branches, and, throwing himself down at her feet, lay his head in her lap and gave himself up to the dreamy delight of the passing hour.Their voices rose and fell, tender or animated as they spoke of their love and of their future.She, with a few skilful words spoken from time to time, guided his thoughts, and he let his happiness flow in a stream of talk passionate and tender, grave or menacing, according to the mood which she evoked.He spoke to her of his own island, where the gloomy forests and the muddy rivers were unknown.He spoke of its terraced fields, of the murmuring clear rills of sparkling water that flowed down the sides of great mountains, bringing life to the land and joy to its tillers.And he spoke also of the mountain peak that rising lonely above the belt of trees knew the secrets of the passing clouds, and was the dwelling-place of the mysterious spirit of his race, of the guardian genius of his house.He spoke of vast horizons swept by fierce winds that whistled high above the summits of burning mountains.He spoke of his forefathers that conquered ages ago the island of which he was to be the future ruler.And then as, in her interest, she brought her face nearer to his, he, touching lightly the thick tresses of her long hair, felt a sudden impulse to speak to her of the sea he loved so well; and he told her of its never-ceasing voice, to which he had listened as a child, wondering at its hidden meaning that no living man has penetrated yet; of its enchanting glitter; of its senseless and capricious fury; how its surface was for ever changing, and yet always enticing, while its depths were for ever the same, cold and cruel, and full of the wisdom of destroyed life.He told her how it held men slaves of its charm for a life-time, and then, regardless of their devotion, swallowed them up, angry at their fear of its mystery, which it would never disclose, not even to those that loved it most.While he talked, Nina's head had been gradually sinking lower, and her face almost touched his now.Her hair was over his eyes, her breath was on his forehead, her arms were about his body.No two beings could be closer to each other, yet she guessed rather than understood the meaning of his last words that came out after a slight hesitation in a faint murmur, dying out imperceptibly into a profound and significant silence: »The sea, O Nina, is like a woman's heart.«She closed his lips with a sudden kiss, and answered in a steady voice –»But to the men that have no fear, O master of my life, the sea is ever true.«Over their heads a film of dark, thread-like clouds, looking like immense cobwebs drifting under the stars, darkened the sky with the presage of the coming thunderstorm
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