Jill hesitated for a second and then answered with a glint in her eye.

“Yes! he did—­and he did Mary too—­put the dinkiest little heart on her
arm--we were under the cherry tree in the vegetable------!”

“Go!” suddenly thundered the Arab.

And Jill, gathering her raiment about her for departure, turned to look straight into the man’s eyes, whilst her heart, in spite of the little scornful smile which twisted the corner of her mouth, leapt with the love which had blossomed a hundredfold under the torrent of jealousy, wrath, and mastery which he had poured forth upon her during the last hour.

“Behold! art thou weak,” she said sweetly in his own tongue, “having not the strength to kill that which offends thee.  ’Thou shalt not know this man, or any other man,’” she mocked, quoting his words, “and yet canst thou not break me to thy will!  Of a truth, I have no further use for thee in thy weakness!”

But Hahmed’s control had only been slightly cracked, so that he merely pointed to the curtain which divided Jill’s quarters from the rest of the house.

“Go!” he said simply, “go to thy apartment, wherein thou shalt stay until thou seest good to come to me in obedience and love.  Thou shalt not go forth except to the gardens; neither shall thy friends visit thee, neither shalt thou climb to the roof; and thou shalt obey me—­many, aye, many a woman were dead for far less than this thy disobedience—­but thou—­thou art too beautiful to kill, except with love—­go!”

And Jill went, with beautiful head held high, heart throbbing from love, and blood pounding in her ears from downright rage.

“I will not obey you!  I shall do exactly as I wish!” she proclaimed, with the curtain in her hand.  In which she was mistaken, for the simple fact that love held her fast.

And the curtain swinging to hide her from the Arab, as she stood for one moment holding out her arms toward him; and for the same reason she did not see him pick up her torn, scented veil, to thrust it between his inner silken vest and his sorely perturbed heart.

CHAPTER XLIII

Night with her blessed wind had come at last, which means coolness for a space beneath the stars, and oblivion for a while in sleep for those who have untroubled heart and good digestion.  There was just one black patch in all that silvery stretch of sand, upon which the moon shone, a patch that came neither from rock or tree or cloud, and which moved occasionally in fitful jerks, until it raised itself and collapsed again, and spread itself in a still stranger shape as from underneath garments which had the form of arms and legs and disjointed feet which fell apart, there crawled a man.

A man, though the face was cracked in great seams from brow to chin, whilst the black tongue protruded from the split mouth drawn back from the even teeth until the great bloated face seemed to laugh in derision at the moon’s softness.