They went on and on up the river against the current, Leonora singing, Rafael bending over the oars, moving his sinewy arms like steel springs.  He kept the boat inshore, where the current was not so strong.  At times low branches brushed the heads of the lovers, and drops of dew fell on their faces.  Many a time the boat glided through one of the verdant archways of foliage, making its way slowly through the lily-pads; and the green overhead would tremble with the harmonious violence of that wonderful voice, as vibrant and as resonant as a great silver bell.

Day had not yet dawned—­the dolce albor of Hans Sachs’ song—­but at any moment the rosy rim of sunrise would begin to climb the sky.

Rafael was hurrying to get back as soon as possible.  Her sonorous voice of such tremendous range seemed to be awakening the whole countryside.  In one cottage a window lighted up.  Several times along the river-bank, as they rowed past the reeds, Rafael thought he heard the noise of snapping branches, the cautious footsteps of spies who were following them.

“Hush, my darling.  You had better stop singing; they’ll recognize you.  They’ll guess who you are.”

They reached the bank where they had embarked.  Leonora leaped ashore.  They must separate there; for she insisted on going home alone.  And their parting was sweet, slow, endless.

“Good-bye, my love; one kiss.  Until tomorrow ... no, later—­today.”

She walked a few steps up the bank, and then suddenly ran back to snuggle again in her lover’s arms.

“Another, my prince ... the last.”

Day was breaking, announced not by the song of the lark, as in the garden of Shakespere’s lovers at Verona, but by the sound of carts, creaking over country roads in the distance, and by a languid, sleepy melody of an orchard boy.

“Good-bye, Rafael....  Now I must really go.  They’ll discover us.”

Wrapping her coat about her she hurried away, waving a final farewell to him with her handkerchief.

Rafael rowed upstream toward the city.  That part of the trip—­he reflected—­alone, tired, and struggling against the current, was the one bad part of the wonderful night.  When he moored his boat near the bridge it was already broad day.  The windows of the river houses were opening.  Over the bridge carts laden with produce for the market were rumbling, and orchard women were going by with huge baskets on their heads.  All these people looked down with interest on their deputy.  He must have spent the night fishing.  And this news passed from one to the other, though not a trace of fishing tackle was visible in the boat.  How they envied rich folks, who could sleep all day and spend their time just as they pleased!

Rafael jumped ashore.  All that curiosity he was attracting annoyed him.  His mother would know everything by the time he got home!

As he climbed slowly and wearily, his arms numb from rowing, to the bridge, he heard his name called.