imself all.

Heaven alone knows if she really understood that which she described;
be that as it may, the man rose to his feet as she turned with
outstretched arms towards him, moving almost imperceptibly from the
waist, telling him that which her lips would not utter, until suddenly
with a great cry he sprang towards her, and sweeping her into his arms,
tore the coverings from her breasts, until indeed like a lotus-bud she
lay silent upon his heart. For one second he stood, and then he raised
her above his head upon his outstretched hands, so that the great pins
fell from her head and the perfumed hair like golden rain about his
shoulders, then he flung her upon the bed of cushions and stood above
her with blazing eyes and dilated, quivering nostrils.

And then he knelt beside her, covering her gleaming nakedness with the
cloak, and spoke softly in the Eastern tongue.

"I leave you, woman, to go and give orders for your journey to Cairo.
There shall you become my wife, my woman, for behold, I will no longer
wait.

"Let not your thoughts dwell upon caprice or tricks of woman, for if
you say me nay, _yet_ will I make you my wife, and force you unto me.
But you will not gainsay me, for behold you love me, so rest upon your
bed for the three weeks which must pass before the caravan is ready for
the journey, so that in health and strength and surpassing loveliness
you will come to me."

And having knelt to kiss the rosy feet, he withdrew from the presence
of his beloved, and the English girl turned on her face and sobbed, and
then, gathering her cloak around her so as to hide the dishevelment of
her raiment, passed to the roof above to hold conclave with the stars.

CHAPTER XXX

It seems wellnigh impossible that an English maid could look with such
equanimity upon the prospect of marriage with a man, an Eastern, of
whom she knew nothing outside the tales and anecdotes recounted to her
of his exploits and prowess, the which stood good to rival even the
adventures of Haroun al Raschid.

As if an English girl, you will say, could ever _dream_ of such a
thing--a girl brought up in England's best society!

True! brought up within a wall of convention, with her ears for ever
filled with the everlasting tag, "It's not done, you know," that
shibboleth which for stultifying all original effort surpasses even the
mythical but revered sway of Mrs. Grundy. A girl whose brain, and
originality, and deep passions, must