"Ah, Ce-cil! At last!--at last! _Marhaba_."
There was a movement on the other side of the dimly-lit, luxurious
chamber, and from her silken divan Zoraida half rose to greet me.
Reclining with languorous grace upon a pile of silken cushions, her hand
outstretched in glad welcome, the jewels she wore flashed and gleamed
under the antique Moorish hanging lamp with an effect that was
bewildering. But alas! from her eyes to her chin a flimsy veil still
concealed her features.
Taking her small white hand, I stood by the divan and looked down at her
steadily in silence, then raised her fingers slowly and reverently to my
lips.
The curtains had fallen; we were alone.
Presently, when we had gazed into each other's eyes with tender,
passionate earnestness, I addressed her in Arab simile as light of my
life from the envy of whose beauty the sun was confused, and told her
how slowly time had dragged along since I had escaped from the poison of
the asp; how glad I was to bow once again before the Daughter of the
Sun.
She listened to my affectionate words without replying. One of her
little pale green slippers had fallen off, leaving a tiny bare foot
lying white upon the dark silk.
Her dress was gorgeous, fully in keeping with her costly surroundings.
She was a veiled enchantress in gold-spangled embroidery, filmy gauzes,
and silver brocade. Her dark crimson velvet _rlila_, or jacket, cut
very low at the throat, exposing her white, bare breast, was heavily
embroidered with gold, the little _chachia_ stuck jauntily on the side
of her head was of the same hue, thickly ornamented with seed pearls,
while her wide, baggy _serroual_, reaching only mid-leg, were of palest
_eau de nil_ silk, fine as gauze, and brocaded with tiny coloured
flowers. Her vest, that showed below the _rlila_, was of silver
brocade, and her sash, of many-coloured stripes, was looped in front,
the fringes hanging gracefully. Across her forehead a string of gold
sequins was stretched, with a centre-piece consisting of a great cluster
of lustrous diamonds, while three particularly fine gems, set in
pendants, hung upon her white brow. Around her slim, delicate throat
were two splendid diamond necklaces, a dozen rows of seed pearls, and a
necklet composed of large, golden Turkish coins. Suspended by four
heavy gold chains about her neck was her golden perfume-bottle,
encrusted with roughly-cut diamonds and sapphires; on her arms she wore
_mesais_ of gold and silver studded with gems, her fingers glittered
with diamonds, and on her neat, bare ankles golden _redeefs_ jingled.
Indeed, she was the fairest and most dazzling woman my eyes had ever
gazed upon.
The air of the harem was heavy with sweet perfumes, mingling with the
sensuous odour of burning pastilles. In the apartment everything
betokened wealth and taste. The silken divans, with their downy,
brightly-coloured cushions, the priceless inlaid tables, the genuinely
antique cabinets with doors of mother-of-pearl, the Eastern rugs of
beautifully-blended shades, the rich embroideries, and the profusion of
flowers, all combined to render it the acme of comfort and luxury, and
graced by such a bewitching vision of Eastern beauty, the scene seemed
more like a glimpse of fairyland than a reality.
"Thou hast not forgotten me, then?" she said, raising herself slowly,
and placing under her handsome head a cushion of pale primrose silk.
"No," I replied. "How can I ever forget thee?"
Her white breast rose and fell in a deep-drawn sigh.
"Already Allah, the Most Merciful, hath directed thy footsteps and
vouchsafed me the felicity of conversing with thee. Thou hast kept thy
promise unto me, O Cecil, for when the _homards_ would follow us, thou
didst not betray our whereabouts. Therefore I trust thee."
"I assure thee that any confidence thou placest in me shall never be
abused," I replied. "Yet," I added, "thou dost not place in me that
perfect trust that I have."
"Why?" she asked, in quick surprise.
"Still hidden from my gaze is that countenance I am longing to look
upon."
"Wouldst thou have me cast aside my religion? I am a woman; remember
what is written," she exclaimed, half reproachfully.
"The adoration of the Christian is none the less passionate than the
love of the True Believer," I said. "A woman is not defiled by the gaze
of the man she loveth. But," I added thoughtfully, "perhaps, after all,
thou hast no thought of me, and my fond belief that in thy breast
burneth the fire of love is only a vain delusion."
"Thou--thou thinkest I can care nothing for thee--a Roumi? Why?" she
cried, starting up.
"Because of thy refusal to unveil."
She hesitated; her brows were momentarily contracted. Her hand
trembled.
"Then, though I cast aside the creed of my forefathers and the commands
of the Prophet, I give thee definite answer. See!" With a sudden
movement she withdrew a golden pin, and, tearing away her white silken
veil, her countenance was revealed.
I stood amazed, fascinated, half fearing that the wondrous vision of
beauty was only a chimera of my distorted imagination that would quickly
fade.
Yet it was a reality. The face turned upward to mine with a merry,
mischievous smile was that of Zoraida, the woman who had now so plainly
demonstrated her love.
"Well," she asked, with a merry, rippling laugh, "art thou satisfied?
Do I please thee?"
"Thou art, indeed, the fairest daughter of Al-Islam," I said, slowly
entwining my arm about her neck and bending to kiss her. She was fair
as the sun at dawn, with hair black as the midnight shades, with
Paradise in her eye, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving like
the tamarisk when the soft wind blows from the hills of Afiou.
Her lips met mine in a long, hot, passionate caress; but at last she
pushed me from her with firmness, saying--
"No, I must not--I must not love thee! Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds,
Pardoner of Transgressions, knoweth that thou art always in my
thoughts--yet we can never be more than friends."
"Why?" I asked, in dismay. "May we not marry some day?"
"Thou art a Roumi, while I--I am a dweller in the mansion of grief."
"But all things are possible," I said. "If thou art afraid of thy
people, trust in me. Meet me clandestinely, attired in European
garments, and we will leave by the steamer for Marseilles, where we can
marry."
I uttered these passionate words scarce knowing what thoughts I
expressed. As soon as they had left my mouth I was filled with regret.
"No. Ask me not," she replied, firmly. "Already, by bringing thee
hither, by unveiling before thee, and by suffering thee to kiss me, I
have invoked the Wrath. The curse is already upon me, and--and, alas!
I shall pay the penalty soon enough," she added, with a touch of gloomy
sadness.
"What dost thou mean?" I asked, gazing into her beautiful, entrancing
face.
"It meaneth that I, Zoraida Fathma, am consumed by that sorrow and
despair that is precursory of death; that Eblis hath set his fatal seal
upon me--that I am doomed!"
Her lustrous eyes, with their arched and darkened brows, looked into
mine with an expression of intensity and desperation, and she glanced
furtively, as if in fear, into the distant corner of the room, where the
light from the great lamp of beaten brass did not penetrate.
"Thine enigmas are puzzling," I said. "What evil canst thou fear?"
A shudder ran through her slim frame. Then she clutched my hand and
tightly held it.
"I cannot--I--It is forbidden that I should love thee, O Cecil," she
said, sighing and setting her teeth firmly.
"Why?"
"Because a greater and more insurmountable obstacle than our difference
of race and creed preventeth it."
"But tell me what it is?" I demanded.
"_Isbir showhyyah_," ("Have patience a little"), she replied. "Though I
may love thee, my Amin, thou canst never be my husband. I am as much a
captive as any of my slaves, and, alas! far, far more unhappy than
they."
Why did she have slaves? I wondered. Slavery in Algeria had, I knew,
been abolished since the overthrow of the Dey, although in the far
south, beyond the Areg, the tribes still held many in bondage.
"Unhappy?" I cried. "What is the cause of thy misery? Art thou
thyself a slave, or--or art thou wedded?"
She started, staring at me with a strange expression.
"I--I love thee!" she stammered. "Is not that sufficient? If I wish at
present to conceal certain facts, why dost thou desire me to tell lies
to _thee_? To my woman Messoudia thou didst take oath to seek no
further information beyond what I give thee."
"True, O Zoraida," I said. "Forgive me. Yet the mystery that
surroundeth thyself is so puzzling."
"I know," she said, with a tantalising laugh. "But when a woman loves,
it is imprudent of her to compromise herself;" and she beat an impatient
tattoo with her fingers, with their henna-stained nails, upon a
_derbouka_ lying within her reach.
I did not reply. I was engrossed in thought. All that she had said
made it plainer to me that she was the wife of Hadj Absalam.
She watched me in silence. Then, with a sudden impetuousness, she
sprang from her divan, and, standing up, flung her arms about my neck,
kissing me passionately. The silk of her _serroual_ rustled, her
bangles jingled, and in her quick movement she lost her remaining
slipper, and stood barefooted, a veritable Queen of the Harem, a houri
of Paradise.
"Hark!" she whispered, starting in alarm as we stood locked in each
other's arms, while I rained kisses upon her fair face. "Hark!" she
cried. "Listen! What was that?"