Then with a gliding, uneasy step she started away. "Back!" warned Morgiana to Mary, who attempted to follow. "I will do myself no harm.

I return at once." Almost immediately she reentered, in each hand a silver cup, the cups identical, each filled with violet sherbet. She set them upon the slab by the fountain. There was no madness in her glance now.

"I am thirsty," said the Greek, simply; "may I drink?"

"Drink?" repeated the Arabian, with a strange intonation. "Yes, in Allah's name, but first hearken! Many years ago, in Bagdad, a wise old woman taught me of an Indian drug, two pellets, small as shrivelled peas, in a little wine. Drink, and go to sleep--sleep so sound that you waken only when Moukir and Nakir, the death angels, sift soul from body. In Palermo, Iftikhar brought to his harem a Moorish girl. It was the hour of the beginning of my sorrow. A little made my breast fire, and my jealousy was swifter than the falling stars, which are Allah's bolts against the rebel efreets. One night when the Moor drank sherbet, she tasted nothing, she went to sleep; they found her body with a smile on the lips--her soul--? Ask the winds and the upper air."

Mary's eyes were fastened on the silver cups; were they brimmed with nectar of the old Greek G.o.ds that they should charm her so? She heard her heart-beats, and bated her breath while Morgiana continued: "You wish to be free. So do I. Life is terrible to you; only when you sleep is there peace, fair visions, joy. Do you know, I had resolved, when I learned Iftikhar was bringing you to Aleppo, that you should drink of sherbet from my hands the first night of all; and wake--where even Iftikhar's eagle eye could never follow you?"

"Holy Mother! why did you spare me?" came across Mary's teeth.

"Why? Because, when I saw you pure as a lily of the spring, and so fair that the rose blushed in redder shame before you, and knew that your sorrow pa.s.sed mine,--I had no will to kill you. Yes, your very love for death disarmed my hate. And now?"--she pointed to the cups.

Mary felt herself held captive as her spellbound gaze followed Morgiana.

The Arabian knelt by the marble slab; took up the two cups; held them forth.

"Mary, Star of the Greeks," said Morgiana, looking straight into the Christian's eyes, "you believe in G.o.d; that He is good; that He orders all things well. Be it so. Then either He ordains that you spend your life the slave of Iftikhar, or that you be free. Either He ordains that I should possess Iftikhar, and he me--me only, or that I should flit far hence, where pang and remembrance of my loss can never follow. Therefore I say this. Here are two cups, alike as two drops of the spraying fountain. In one,--but I say not which,--I have placed the pellet of the Indian drug. The cups I cannot tell apart, save as I remember. You shall take the cups. I leave the room. You shall place them where you will, only so that I may forget which has received the magic pellet. I will then return. You shall drink of one, whichever you choose,--I the other. We shall kiss one another three times, lie down on the divan, and rest. Whom Allah wills, shall awake beyond the stars; whom Allah wills, shall awake in El Halebah! All is left to G.o.d. There is no taste, no pang; only sleep, sweet as a child on its mother's arm. For every day my love for you grows; but every day my heart says, 'Except Mary the Christian and Morgiana the Moslem be sundered by seven seas, woe--only woe--for both!'" Still the Greek did not reply. What were these visions flitting before her eyes? Not the birds; not the feathery palm groves waving beneath the palace walls.

All her past life was there,--her father's stately house in Constantinople; the glory of the great city; the wild scenes of the escape to Sicily; Richard Longsword plucking her from the Berbers; the tourney--De Valmont in his blood; the hour when Richard touched her lips with the first kiss; the marriage; the last sight of her husband in the morning twilight at Dorylaeum. Scene upon scene, a wild, moving pageant; yet behind all seemed to hover the shadow of Iftikhar--Iftikhar, the cause of sorrow and tears unnumbered. Still Morgiana held out the cups. "Taste!" she was saying. "You cannot tell. All is in the hands of G.o.d,--whether you bow your head to your fate, or to-night the moonbeams are your pillow; or whether I am escaped from all my heartache; can flit over your couch on unseen wing, and teach you to endure, as best you may, till the hour comes when hand in hand we can fly up the path of the sun and join in the dance of the winds."

As bidden, Mary touched her finger first in one cup then in the other, placing each drop in turn on her lips. The same--she might have drained both goblets and known no difference. Truly the issue was with G.o.d! And still Morgiana proffered.

"Take; we have been dear sisters together. How can I bless Allah when I desire to love you so, yet know that your life is misery to me, as misery to you? You have many times said you prayed for death."

And then Mary spoke, a wondrous spell binding her:--

"Not so, Morgiana,--unfair. Why should I live and you die? Let me drink alone of this blessed drug that makes the heart cease bleeding.

And you may live--live and be glad with Iftikhar."

Morgiana shook her raven-black hair, and spoke with an awful smile.

"Always is death sweet--I will not shun it, if Allah so wills. All I know is, we twain cannot live together; not in this world. Perhaps it is the Most High's will that I should go out, and you remain to give joy to Iftikhar. We leave all to Him. Then let us drink; and each await the other. Therefore--take." Mary had received the cups. "Place them where and as you will; I return speedily." And Morgiana was gone.

The Greek gazed on the magic liquor as though on her lover's face.

Almost she seemed to feel herself transformed, transfigured; clothed with wings white as swans' sails, and soaring upward, upward into perfect freedom. She saw her father, her mother,--that fair angel face of childish years. She thought of Richard Longsword. There would be no time for her, while awaiting the golden morning when her husband could look upon her face with naught to dread. Did thus G.o.d will? She had set the cups on the railing by the windows. "Come back!" was her call to Morgiana. The Arab glided straight to the cups; took one; lifted to her lips. "Let Allah have pity on one of us!" her words. But as Mary's hand stretched out to do the like, she gave a mighty cry. Her goblet fell: the other was dashed from Morgiana's hand.

"Dear G.o.d! What do we?" cried the Greek. "Spare me this temptation!

Nor do you commit this wickedness. Never shall we so tempt G.o.d. Though the grief be a thousand times more great, yet will I trust His mercy.

I am a Christian, and Our Lord did not hang on the tree in vain to make us strong to bear. Death would be sweet. But had we G.o.d's wisdom, our present pangs would seem nothing, hid in the speeding ages of joy.

Let us, each after our manner, call on G.o.d to show us pity. But never shall one of us stand before His face unsummoned, and cry, 'I am too weak to bear what Thou appointest!'"

Morgiana's face flushed livid; she staggered back.

"Then let Allah, if He may, have mercy; our need is great!"--such her cry from twitching lips. But as the words came, Mary saw the Arab's eyes set in a gla.s.sy stare; the lithe form fell heavily. Mary caught her round the waist, and laid her on the marble floor by the fountain; then dashed water in her face, and shouted for help.

Help came--the under-eunuchs, Hakem, Zeyneb; and finally Iftikhar, lordly and splendid, in a suit of perfectly plain black armor with two white hawks' wings nodding on his helmet, spurred and girded as for a foray. The eunuchs brought cordials, strong waters, and pungent perfumes. But Iftikhar first knelt by Morgiana's side, drew forth the little red vial, and laid the magic, fiery drops upon her tongue. The Arab shook herself; her form relaxed; the eyes opened. They bore her into a room leading from the aviary, and propped her on the divan cushions. Not till then did Iftikhar speak a word. Now one gesture sent all save the two women and Zeyneb from the chamber, when the emir broke forth:--

"In the name of Allah Omnipotent, what means this, Morgiana? I demand it; speak!"

And the Arab answered with her gaze full on Iftikhar.

"Cid, I asked Mary the Greek to drink out of one of two goblets, in one of which was a sleeping potion from which the sleeper awakens never. She refused, saying it were better to endure than to tempt the Most High. That is all."

A flash of terrible rage crossed the emir's face. "Witch! sorceress!

Have you sought to make the Greek take her life? As the Most High lives, you shall be impaled!"

"Peace, master," said Mary, gently. "I have refused her proffer. Be a.s.sured I will find strength to bear until I see once more my true husband, or having endured your unholy will, in G.o.d's own time I die."

But at the word the face of Iftikhar was blackened with yet deeper fury. "Your husband!" came thickly. "Yes, master," answered the Greek; "for, living or dying, Richard de St. Julien is my true husband."

Iftikhar cut her short: "Dying? What if dead?"

A frightful suspicion crossed Mary's mind. It was her face that was pallid now. But Iftikhar rea.s.sured her with a forced laugh: "_Ya_, how easy to tell you, 'Richard, the Frankish barbarian, whose sport is slaying guileless boys, has gone to his long account in the fighting around Antioch.' But I say to you, he lives, and I go to Antioch to seek his life."

The Greek was herself once more. Very steadily she answered: "Master, let G.o.d judge Richard de St. Julien for slaying Gilbert de Valmont, since Zeyneb I see has learned and told the tale. But let G.o.d also judge Iftikhar Eddauleh, who is mightier with the dagger of his underlings than with his own sword, and who finds iron lances as light in his hand as those of reed."

The words of the Greek were slingstones whirled in the emir's face. In the blindness of his fury he sprang toward her, and struck. The woman tottered, recovered; then tore back the muslin from her neck and shoulders:--

"Strike!" cried she, "strike again! Are you not master? Are you not lord of this body of mine you so l.u.s.t after? What is a little pain, a few blows, beside what I ever bear!"

Iftikhar's muscles grew tense as springing steel when he reined in his pa.s.sion. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky: "Woman, you drive me to all bounds. You do well to call me 'master.' Truly I am, as you shall own with sorrow, if not with joy. But two evenings past you were queen, with the heir of Ha.s.san Sabah your slave. But now--" he was silent, but broke forth again--"my pledge to you is at an end. You are mine. I will break your will, if I may not win it. You still hold the face of Richard Longsword dear?"

"Yes, by every saint!" flashed the defiant Greek.

"Hark, then," was the laugh of hate; "I go soon to Antioch in company with the great host Kerbogha of Mosul gathers to rescue Yaghi-Sian besieged by the Christians. I go second in command, with the twelve thousand 'devoted' of Syria, to whom death is less than sleep, who can stanch thirst with the vapor from the sunburned sand, whose steeds find food sniffing the desert blast. We will gird round the Franks tight as a ring girds the finger. I know the bull valor of your Christians. But they shall die as die the flies, or fall one and all our prey--prisoners. And Richard Longsword--"

"Look him fairly in the face--as at Dorylaeum!" cried the Greek, in hot scorn. "As at Dorylaeum!"

"And Richard Longsword," continued Iftikhar, still steadily, "as surely as the sun moves from east to west, I will slay in battle, or, taking alive, you shall see him my captive. Yes; by the brightness of Allah! When I go to Antioch, you go also; with your own eyes you shall see the fate of those Franks you love. You shall see Richard borne asunder on the cimeters of the 'devoted' or haled fettered before me."

He paused, expecting an outburst. None! The Greek was standing proudly, her head poised high, eyes very bright.

"And at the end you shall indeed touch the head of your Richard. The head,--for you shall hear the crier traverse the city, proclaiming, 'He who would amuse himself, come to the great square,--the body of Richard the Frank is exposed to the dogs!'"

Mary took two steps toward the Ismaelian; her voice was low; she was pale, but did not tremble.

"Lord Iftikhar, if G.o.d suffered and you placed even now the head of Richard Longsword in my arms, rest a.s.sured I would kiss it with never so much love. For I would know a brave and n.o.ble spirit waited on high till it were granted me to stand at his side, all his sins washed white by G.o.d's mercy. But, my Cid, better to think of bearding the lion than of celebrating the hunting. For, hear my word; go to Antioch, you, the 'devoted,' the hordes of Kerbogha,--go all, and meet there men with a love for G.o.d in their hearts, a heaven-sped strength in their good arms. Not with dagger and stealth shall you meet; but man to man, breast to breast, sword to sword,--and Christ shall conquer!"

"Silence!" tossed out the emir, losing self-control.

"Well you cry 'silence'! First silence your own dark soul--silence reproach for blood spilled wantonly, for tears your deeds have made to flow. At heart you Ismaelians believe in no G.o.d! Believe then in devils; tremble! For many await you! And this you shall find: men can die for Christ no less than for Allah! Aye, and can live for Christ; by His strength, make you Moslems die! As for me I shall not die; in some strange way, by some strange voice, I am warned G.o.d will save me utterly; and I shall see you blasted, stricken, accursed--and that were joy of joys!"

Mary's voice had risen higher, fiercer; her hands outstretched in imprecation. Before the wild gust of her pa.s.sion Iftikhar had shrunk back like a timid beast. For a moment the Greek was master, queen as never before. Then sudden as the flame had flashed, it died. Mary stood with drooping head, silent, statue-like.

"Away! From my sight!" commanded Iftikhar. His captive did not move.

Hakem had reentered.

"Take her away," cried his master; "keep her close,--let her lack nothing; but as Allah lives, her will shall bow. Let her go to Antioch when I go; but I will not see her face again until I can show her Richard Longsword dead or my captive. And now--begone!"

Mary followed the eunuch with never a word. But Morgiana, silent long, broke forth:--