The girl, twisting up her black hair, fastened it with slender wooden
pins. The man, reclining at full length, had made room on his mat for
the gun--as one would do for a friend--and, supported on his elbow,
looked toward the yacht with eyes whose fixed dreaminess like a
transparent veil would show the slow passage of every gloomy thought by
deepening gradually into a sombre stare.
"We have seen three sunrises on this islet, and no friend came from the
sea," he said without changing his attitude, with his back toward the
girl who sat on the other side of the cold embers.
"Yes; and the moon is waning," she answered in a low voice. "The moon
is waning. Yet he promised to be here when the nights are light and the
water covers the sandbanks as far as the bushes."
"The traveller knows the time of his setting out, but not the time of
his return," observed the man, calmly.
The girl sighed.
"The nights of waiting are long," she murmured.
"And sometimes they are vain," said the man with the same composure.
"Perhaps he will never return."
"Why?" exclaimed the girl.
"The road is long and the heart may grow cold," was the answer in a
quiet voice. "If he does not return it is because he has forgotten."
"Oh, Hassim, it is because he is dead," cried the girl, indignantly.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90