Chapter 61

An Incognito

For the rest of that day, and several that followed, we were
continually receiving visits from the neighboring islands; whose
inhabitants in fleets and flotillas flocked round Odo to behold the
guests of its lord. Among them came many messengers from the
neighboring kings with soft speeches and gifts.

But it were needless to detail our various interviews, or relate in
what manifold ways, the royal strangers gave token of their interest
concerning us.

Upon the third day, however, there was noticed a mysterious figure,
like the inscrutable incognitos sometimes encountered, crossing the
tower-shadowed Plaza of Assignations at Lima. It was enveloped in a
dark robe of tappa, so drawn and plaited about the limbs; and with
one hand, so wimpled about the face, as only to expose a solitary
eye. But that eye was a world. Now it was fixed upon Yillah with a
sinister glance, and now upon me, but with a different expression.
However great the crowd, however tumultuous, that fathomless eye
gazed on; till at last it seemed no eye, but a spirit, forever prying
into my soul. Often I strove to approach it, but it would evade me,
soon reappearing.

Pointing out the apparition to Media, I intreated him to take means
to fix it, that my suspicions might be dispelled, as to its being
incorporeal. He replied that, by courtesy, incognitos were sacred.
Insomuch that the close-plaited robe and the wimple were secure as a
castle. At last, to my relief, the phantom disappeared, and was seen
no more.

Numerous and fervent the invitations received to return the calls
wherewith we were honored. But for the present we declined them;
preferring to establish ourselves firmly in the heart of Media, ere
encountering the vicissitudes of roaming. In a multitude of
acquaintances is less security, than in one faithful friend.

Now, while these civilities were being received, and on the fourth
morning after our arrival, there landed on the beach three black-eyed
damsels, deep brunettes, habited in long variegated robes, and with
gay blossoms on their heads.

With many salams, the strangers were ushered into my presence by an
old white-haired servitor of Media's, who with a parting conge
murmured, "From Queen Hautia," then departed. Surprised, I stood
mute, and welcomed them.

The first, with many smiles and blandishments, waved before me a
many-tinted Iris: the flag-flower streaming with pennons. Advancing,
the second then presented three rose-hued purple-veined Circea
flowers, the dew still clinging to them. The third placed in my hand
a moss-rose bud; then, a Venus-car.

"Thanks for your favors! now your message."

Starting at this reception,