Amid this mighty halo, as on clouds of flame, a girl was dancing. She
was black, and lithe, and tall, and willowy. Her garments twined and
flew around the delicate moulding of her dark, young, half-naked limbs.
A heavy mass of hair clung motionless to her wide forehead. Her arms
twirled and flickered, and body and soul seemed quivering and whirring
in the poetry of her motion.
As she danced she sang. He heard her voice as before, fluttering like a
bird's in the full sweetness of her utter music. It was no tune nor
melody, it was just formless, boundless music. The boy forgot himself
and all the world besides. All his darkness was sudden light; dazzled he
crept forward, bewildered, fascinated, until with one last wild whirl
the elf-girl paused. The crimson light fell full upon the warm and
velvet bronze of her face--her midnight eyes were aglow, her full purple
lips apart, her half hid bosom panting, and all the music dead.
Involuntarily the boy gave a gasping cry and awoke to swamp and night
and fire, while a white face, drawn, red-eyed, peered outward from some
hidden throng within the cabin.
"Who's that?" a harsh voice cried.
"Where?" "Who is it?" and pale crowding faces blurred the light.
The boy wheeled blindly and fled in terror stumbling through the swamp,
hearing strange sounds and feeling stealthy creeping hands and arms and
whispering voices.
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