Page:Iracéma, the honey-lips (1886).djvu/65

"What keepest thou within thy bosom, beautiful daughter of the forest?"

She gazed with brimming eyes at the Christian.

"Iraçéma cannot tear herself from the stranger."

"Yet thus it must be, daughter of Araken. Return to the cabin of thine old father, who awaits thee."

"Araken has no longer a daughter."

Martim turned towards her with a harsh and severe gesture.

"A warrior of my race never leaves the Wigwam of his host widowed of its joy. Araken will embrace his daughter, and shall not curse the ungrateful stranger."

The girl hung her head; veiled in the long black tresses which hung about her neck, she crossed her beautiful arms over her bosom, and stood robed in her modesty. Thus the rosy cactus, before opening into a lovely flower, retains within its breast the perfumed bud.

"Thy slave will accompany thee, white warrior, because thy blood sleeps in her bosom."

Martim trembled.

"The bad spirits of the night have disturbed the spirit of Iraçéma."

"The white warrior was dreaming when Tupan abandoned his Virgin, because she betrayed the secret of the Jurema."

The Christian hid his face from the light.

"O God!" exclaimed his trembling lip.

Both remained silent.

At last Poty spoke—

"The Tabajára warriors awake."

The heart of the bride, like that of the stranger, was deaf to the voice of prudence. The sun arose in the horizon, and his majestic glance descended from the wooded uplands to the forest. Poty stood like a solitary tree-trunk waiting for his brother to give the signal for departure. It was Iraçéma who broke silence.