The voice died away, and Zoë no longer heard the words distinctly; presently she could not hear the voice at all, yet she strained her ears for a few seconds longer. The boat must have passed, on its way down to the Bosphorus. For a whole month she had sat in the same room at that hour, and many times already she had heard men singing in their boats, sometimes to that same ancient Lydian Mode, but never once had they pronounced those meaning words. Often and often again she had passed within sight of the Amena tower, but not until to-day had she seen a solitary fisherman sitting at the pier's edge below it, and he had waved his rod thrice over the water when she passed by. And now in a flash of intuition she guessed that the singer was the fisherman and none other, and that the song was for her, and for no one else; and it was a signal which she could understand and should answer if she could; and there was but one way of answering, and that was to show some light. 'It is hot,' she said, beckoning to Yulia. 'Open the large window wide for a few minutes and let in the fresh air.' Yulia obeyed quickly. The night was very dark. 'Besides,' Zoë continued carelessly, as Zeno looked at her, 'that fellow has a fine voice, and we shall still hear him.' And indeed, as the window was opened, the song was heard again, at some distance-- Over the water to my love, she is awake to-night, I see her eyes amongst the stars. Love, I am here in the dark, but to-morrow I shall see the day in your face, I shall see the noon in your eyes, I shall look upon the sun in your hair. Over the water, the blue water, the water both salt and fresh---- Once more the voice died away and the faint plash of oars told Zoë that the message was all delivered, and that Gorlias was gone, on his way downstream. Zeno, whose maternal tongue was not Greek, could not be supposed to understand much of the song, for unfamiliar words sung to such ancient melodies can only be caught by native-born ears, and sharp ones at that. At a signal from Zoë, the maid shut the window again, and drew the curtains. 'Could you understand the fellow?' Zeno asked, glad in reality that the conversation had been interrupted. 'Yes,' Zoë answered lightly, 'as you would understand an Italian fisherman, I suppose. The man gave you a message, my lord. Shall I interpret what he said?' 'Can you?' He laughed a little. 'He tells you that if you will not try to force Arethusa to keep away from the window to-morrow, she will probably do as you wish--probably!' 'Your friend must have good ears!' Zeno smiled. 'But then he only said "probably." That is not a promise.' 'Why should you trust the promise of a poor slave, sir? You would not believe a lady of Constantinople in the same case if she took oath on the four Gospels! Imagine any woman missing a chance of looking at another about whom she is curious!' 'Who is the other?' asked Zeno, not much pleased.