the foot of the screen a terrible negro eunuch dressed in rich
brocade, sitting and dozing with outstretched legs, with a naked sword
on his lap. My fair guide lightly tripped over his legs and held up
a fringe of the screen. I could catch a glimpse of a part of the room
spread with a Persian carpet--some one was sitting inside on a bed--I
could not see her, but only caught a glimpse of two exquisite feet
in gold-embroidered slippers, hanging out from loose saffron-coloured
paijamas and placed idly on the orange-coloured velvet carpet. On one
side there was a bluish crystal tray on which a few apples, pears,
oranges, and bunches of grapes in plenty, two small cups and a
gold-tinted decanter were evidently waiting the guest. A fragrant
intoxicating vapour, issuing from a strange sort of incense that burned
within, almost overpowered my senses.

As with trembling heart I made an attempt to step across the
outstretched legs of the eunuch, he woke up suddenly with a start, and
the sword fell from his lap with a sharp clang on the marble floor.
A terrific scream made me jump, and I saw I was sitting on that
camp-bedstead of mine sweating heavily; and the crescent moon looked
pale in the morning light like a weary sleepless patient at dawn; and
our crazy Meher Ali was crying out, as is his daily custom, "Stand back!
Stand back!!" while he went along the lonely road.

Such was the abrupt close of one of my Arabian Nights; but there were
yet a thousand nights left.

Then followed a great discord between my days and nights. During the day
I would go to my work worn and tired, cursing the bewitching night and
her empty dreams, but as night came my daily life with its bonds and
shackles of work would appear a petty, false, ludicrous vanity.

After nightfall I was caught and overwhelmed in the snare of a strange
intoxication, I would then be transformed into some unknown personage of
a bygone age, playing my part in unwritten history; and my short English
coat and tight breeches did not suit me in the least. With a red velvet
cap on my head, loose paijamas, an embroidered vest, a long flowing silk
gown, and coloured handkerchiefs scented with attar, I would complete
my elaborate toilet, sit on a high-cushioned chair, and replace my
cigarette with a many-coiled narghileh filled with rose-water, as if in
eager expectation of a strange meeting with the beloved one.

I have no power to describe the marvellous incidents that unfold