rnotto and indigo. One lay lazily picking up the fruit
which fell close to his side; the other sat, his back against a cushion
of soft moss, his hands folded languidly upon his lap, giving himself up
to the soft influence of the narcotic coca-juice, with half-shut dreamy
eyes fixed on the everlasting sparkle of the waterfall--

"While beauty, born of murmuring sound,
Did pass into his face."

Somewhat apart crouched their two dusky brides, crowned with fragrant
flowers, but working busily, like true women, for the lords whom they
delighted to honor. One sat plaiting palm fibres into a basket; the
other was boring the stem of a huge milk-tree, which rose like some
mighty column on the right hand of the lawn, its broad canopy of leaves
unseen through the dense underwood of laurel and bamboo, and betokened
only by the rustle far aloft, and by the mellow shade in which it bathed
the whole delicious scene.

Amyas stood silent for awhile, partly from noble shame at seeing two
Christian men thus fallen of their own self-will; partly because--and
he could not but confess that--a solemn calm brooded above that glorious
place, to break through which seemed sacrilege even while he felt it
a duty. Such, he thought, was Paradise of old; such our first parents'
bridal bower! Ah! if man had not fallen, he too might have dwelt forever
in such a home--with whom? He started, and shaking off the spell,
advanced sword in hand.

The women saw him, and springing to their feet, caught up their long
pocunas, and leapt like deer each in front of her beloved. There they
stood, the deadly tubes pressed to their lips, eyeing him like tigresses
who protect their young, while every slender limb quivered, not with
terror, but with rage.

Amyas paused, half in admiration, half in prudence; for one rash step
was death. But rushing through the canes, Ayacanora sprang to the front,
and shrieked to them in Indian. At the sight of the prophetess the women
wavered, and Amyas, putting on as gentle a face as he could, stepped
forward, assuring them in his best Indian that he would harm no one.

"Ebsworthy! Parracombe! Are you grown such savages already, that you
have forgotten your captain? Stand up, men, and salute!"

Ebsworthy sprang to his feet, obeyed mechanically, and then slipped
behind his bride again, as if in shame. The dreamer turned his head
languidly, raised his hand to his forehead, and then returned to his
contemplation.

Amy