palace of health, not in a hovel of disease.
Meanwhile, we shall buy with what money I have a little patch of
ground which we shall cultivate together. And we shall own cattle and
drink camel milk. And we shall doze in the afternoon in the cool shade
of the palms, and in the evening, wrapt in our cloaks, we'll sleep on
the sands under the living stars. Yes, and Najma shall be the
harbinger of dawn to Khalid.--Out on that little farm in the oasis of
our desert, far from the world and the sanctified abominations of the
world, we shall live near to Allah a life of purest joy, of true
happiness. We shall never worry about the hopes of to-morrow and the
gone blessings of yesterday. We shall not, while labouring, dream of
rest, nor shall we give a thought to our tasks while drinking of the
cup of repose: each hour shall be to us an epitome of eternity. The
trials and troubles of each day shall go with the setting sun, never
to rise with him again. But I am unkind to speak of this. For your
glances banish care, and we shall ever be together. Ay, my Heart, and
when I take up the lute in the evening, you'll sing _mulayiah_ to me,
and the stars above us shall dance, and the desert breeze shall house
us in its whispers of love...."

And thus interminably, while Najma, understanding little of all this,
sits beside him on a fallen column in the Temple and punctuates his
words with assenting exclamations, with long eighs of joy and wonder.
"But we are not going to live in the desert all the time, are we?" she
asks.

"No, my Heart. When I am cured of my illness we shall return to
Baalbek, if you like."

"Eigh, good. Now, I want to say--no. I shame to speak about such
matters."

"Speak, _ya Gazalty_ (O my Doe or Dawn or both); your words are like
the scented breeze, like the ethereal moon rays, which enter into this
Temple without permission. Speak, and light up this ruined Temple of
thine."

"How sweet are Your words, but really I can not understand them. They
are like the sweetmeats my father brought with him once from Damascus.
One eats and exclaims, 'How delicious!' But one never knows how they
are made, and what they are made of. I wish I could speak like you,
_ya habibi_. I would not shame to say then what I want."

"Say what you wish. My heart is open, and your words are silvery
moonbeams."

"Do not blame me then. I am so simple, you know, so foolish. And I
would like to know if you are going to Church on our wedding