Page:Iracéma, the honey-lips (1886).djvu/48

The day darkened; night was already coming on.

The Pagé returned to the wigwam, and again poising the slab of stone, closed with it the mouth of the subterranean passage.

Cauby also arrived from the great Taba, where he and his brother braves had retired after beating the forest in search of the Pytiguara enemy.

In the centre of the wigwam, amidst the hammocks, slung and squared, Iraçéma spread the mat of Carnaúba palm, and served the remains of the game with the wines made during the last moon. The Tabajára brave alone relished the supper; the gall which is wrung from the heart by sorrow did not embitter his palate.

The Pagé drew from his calumet the sacred smoke of Tupan, which filled the depths of his lungs. The stranger greedily inhaled the fresh air to cool his boiling blood. The maiden seemed to sigh her soul away, like honey dropping from the comb, in the frequent sobs that burst from her trembling lips.

Cauby soon retired to the great Taba; the Pagé still inhaled the smoke which prepared him for the mysteries of the Sacred Rite.

There arises in the night silence a vibrating cry which ascends to the sky. Martim raises up his head and listens. Again a similar sound is heard. The warrior whispers, so that only the maiden could hear him—

"Hast heard, Iraçéma, the Seagull՚s cry?"

"Iraçéma has heard the cry of a bird which she does not know."

"It is the Atyaty,^[1] the Heron of the Sea, and Iraçéma is the mountain-maid who has never trodden upon the white beach upon which the waves break."