There he sat at the helm all through the hours from midnight to dawn, and Leonora slept peacefully in the cool sea air, at rest after all her excitement and fatigue. Gradually the moonlight seemed to lose distinctness, while gaining more strength and permeating the shadows of the boat which had before been dark and well defined. The breeze blew cooler and fresher than ever, bearing a faint chill in its breath, and the water, from being like black velvet strewn with diamonds, turned gradually grey and misty, so that the waves could all be seen with their small crests and sharp rough edges. In front the rocky height of Ischia seemed to tower to the sky, and soon it caught the first soft tinge of the dawn. Quickly the rosy light crept downwards, falling gently from tree to tree and from rock to rock, till it reached the water, and the sea rippled and laughed in the sweetness of the summer morning.
Leonora moved in her sleep, and Julius, who was watching her, saw her lips tremble a little as though she were talking in her dreams. Then she started slightly, put out her hand, and opened her eyes. The blood mounted to her cheeks as she met her lover's glance, and he looked from the colour on the water to the colour on her face, and he saw that the blush of the woman was fairer than the blush of the summer sea. She sat up and turned from him a moment, and her hands were busy with her hair.
"Have you slept well, my dear one?" asked Julius. "I am afraid you were terribly uncomfortable."
"Oh, so well," said she, still looking away and deftly putting a hairpin in its place. "But I dreamed just as I woke up."
"What did you dream, sweetheart?" asked Julius, stretching his stiffened limbs. He had scarcely moved for four hours; he could have borne it for four hours longer if he had not wanted anything,--but he had risked waking her in order to get a cigarette.
"I dreamed about you," said she. "You behaved so badly, I am not sure I shall forgive you,--ever." She gave him a hesitating look as she bent her head to arrange her hair.
"It is nothing to laugh at," she answered. "And besides,--I don't know whether I ought to tell you." She stopped and watched him with a little shy laugh.
"Well,--of course this is in the strictest confidence,--you will never tell any one. Do give me the bag, dear. I want the cologne water."