The seamews floated on the water; the
white dove strutted on the ledge; only the nightingales sang on in the
thick arbours.
I pushed my boat between the rocks towards the island. Bright and
burning though the beams of the sun were, here seemed everlasting
shadow. And though at my gradual intrusion, at splash or grating of
keel, the startled cormorant cried in the air, and with one cry woke
many, yet here too seemed perpetual stillness.
How could I know what eyes might not be regarding me from bowers as
thick and secluded as these? Yet this seemed an isle in some vague
fashion familiar to me. To these same watery steps of stone, to this
same mooring-ring surely I had voyaged before in dream or other life?
I glanced into the water and saw my own fantastic image beneath the
reflected gloom of cypresses, and knew at least, though I a shadow
might be, this also was an island in a sea of shadows. Far from all
land its marbles might be reared, yet they were warm to my touch, and
these were nightingales, and those strutting doves beneath the little
arches.
So very gradually, and glancing to and fro into these unstirring
groves, I came presently to the entrance court of the solitary villa
on the cliff-side.
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