Chapter 70 - Page 2

then, I first divined, that some meaning must have lurked in
those flowers they had twice brought me before.

The second damsel now flung over to me Circe flowers; then, a faded
jonquil, buried in a tuft of wormwood leaves.

The third sat in the shallop's stern, and as it glided from us,
thrice waved oleanders.

"What dumb show is this?" cried Media. "But it looks like poetry:
minstrel, you should know."

"Interpret then," said I.

"Shall I, then, be your Flora's flute, and Hautia's dragoman? Held
aloft, the Iris signified a message. These purple-woven Circe flowers
mean that some spell is weaving. That golden, pining jonquil, which
you hold, buried in those wormwood leaves, says plainly to you--
Bitter love in absence."

Said Media, "Well done, Taji, you have killed a queen." "Yet no Queen
Hautia have these eyes beheld."

Said Babbalanja, "The thrice waved oleanders, Yoomy; what meant
they?"

"Beware--beware--beware."

"Then that, at least, seems kindly meant," said Babbalanja; "Taji,
beware of Hautia."