“And my heart inclineth to hours spent with thee, O!  Flower of the Desert, hours spent at thy feet in the heat of the day whilst thou slumberest, hours upon the roof of thy dwelling, watching the day prepare herself for the coming of her lover, the night; and yet must I leave thee when my being is overwhelmed with love of thee, thou wind of caprice!  Would that I could tell the meaning of my gentleness towards thee, I, Hahmed, who, like a love-sick youth, sleeps the night without the silken curtain of thy door and dare not enter in unto thee.”

And his hands suddenly gripped the girl by her shoulders and pulled her towards him, at which roughness she smiled, as women do when so treated, and rested her sweet-scented head above his heart.

“Ah, Hahmed!  Who knows if thou are not over timorous even for a love-sick youth,” she sighed.  “And must thou go when my heart inclineth to hours spent with thee?  And yet at night the stars come out so ’tis said, and can be seen from the roof of my dwelling; and when the wind sweeps over chill across the sands the fire throws shadows in my room of roses, where the love bird with little wings hovers above my couch suspended by a little silken cord.”

And the man bent her back towards him so that the ribbon of her bodice snapped and the beauty of her lay under his hands, and she stretched both arms outwards and whispered so that only he could hear, “Kiss me, Hahmed, oh my heart’s desire!  Kiss me, for I am faint with love of thee.”

And even as he bent downwards to her she fell unconscious at his feet, whereupon he raised her in his arms and looked into the white face, speaking so that only she might hear.

“And the love bird shall fly down to thy couch this night, Delight of my Heart, and the shadows upon thy sweet face shall deepen ere the dawn,” and he kissed the closed eyes and the red mouth and the white throat and the shadow of a collar-bone which showed above the roundness of her breasts, and then he laid her upon the cushions on the ground, and, clapping his hands, gave her into the care of her handmaidens.

[1]Evil Spirit.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

An hour and more had passed before Jack Wetherbourne suddenly awoke, and stretching his arms above his head apostrophised the full moon shining down upon the Great Pyramid in the shadows of which he was sitting.

“What the dickens Lady Moon brought me to this place of all places to-night,” he said lazily, as he struck a match and lit a cigarette.  “Let’s hope my ship of the desert hasn’t upstreamed for Cairo all on her own, else I see myself here until the advent of the next Cook’s party.  Decent of the camel wallah to let me take the apple of his commercial eye into the desert unaccompanied.”  He stretched and settled himself more comfortably, continuing to talk aloud.  “What a night—­what a country—­wish I’d brought Mary with me—­ideal spot for a heart-to-heart talk.  I might have shaken her out of her ‘eyedyfix,’ as old Gruntham calls it.  Silly idea that she won’t get married until Jill has been found—­why! what! who in heaven’s name are coming down the pyramid?  Well, I’m blessed! two native wallahs been breaking the rules, and I had no idea they were perched up there above my head.”