Broken in mind and body, the odalisk dragged herself to his knees, and seizing his hand drew it to her breast and to her lips. She could not speak, she could only sob and weep.

Feriz looked at her compa.s.sionately.

"Thou hast done well," he said gently.

The girl embraced the youth's knees, and it was well with her that he suffered her to do so.

"I thank thee for keeping thy word," said Feriz; "look now! that woman was not my beloved. She has a husband who loves her."

Indescribably sweet were these words to the damsel. In them she found the sweetest reward for her sufferings and self-sacrifice. Then it was not love after all which made Feriz save this woman through her!

The uproar meanwhile was extending along the sh.o.r.e, the pursuers could see that they were on the track of the fugitives.

"We must be off," said Feriz; "wouldst thou like to come with me?"

"Come with him!" What a thought was that for Azrael! To be able to live under the same roof with him!

Yet she answered: "I will not come."

It occurred to her that if she were found with the dear youth he would perish because of her. And besides, she knew that the invitation was due not to love but to magnanimous grat.i.tude.

"I want to go over to the island," she said in a faint voice.

"Then I'll help thee to find thy skiff," said the youth, extending his hand to the odalisk to raise her up.

She was still kneeling on the ground before him.

She fixed upon him her large eyes swimming with tears, and whispered in a tremulous voice:

"Feriz! Thou wert wont to reward those damsels who sacrificed themselves for thee, who died n.o.bly and valiantly because they loved thee. Have not I also won that reward?"

Feriz Beg sadly lowered his head as if it afflicted him to think of the significance of these words; then softly, gently, he bent over the damsel, and drawing her lovely head towards him, pressed a warm, feeling kiss on her marble forehead.

The odalisk trembled with rapture beneath the load of that more than earthly sensation of pleasure, and leaping up and stretching her arms to Heaven, she whispered:

"I am happy!--For the first time in my life. Now I may go--and die."

Feriz, tenderly embracing her, led the damsel to her skiff. Then she stopped suddenly, and leaning her head against the shoulder of the youth, murmured in his ear:

"When thou reachest thy kiosk, lie not down to sleep! Sit at thy window and look towards the island in the direction of sunrise. The night will be over ere long, and the dawn will come sooner than at other times.

When thou seest this portent think of me and say for me the prayer which is used before the cold dawn, and say from thy heart: 'That woman does penance for her sins!'"

The odalisk felt two tear-drops falling upon her cheek. They fell from the eyes of the youth.

She could never feel happier in this world than she felt now.

A few minutes later the skiff was flying over the rocking waves.

CHAPTER XX.

THE VICTIM.

The Princess was saved, but she who had saved her was doomed.

Along the banks of the rivers, and on the summits of the bastions, alarm-beacons had been kindled announcing the flight of the fugitives.

It was late. On the sh.o.r.e the swift Arab horses of the pursuers were racing with the wind. But the wind was not idle, but blew and raged and fought with the foaming waves of the Danube, and tossed and pitched about every little boat that lay upon it.

There was only one skiff, however, that ventured to cross the Danube and rise and fall with its billows, which were like the waves of the sea. A white form stood stonily motionless in the boat, and the blast kept twisting its soft garments round its body. The trembling boatman called upon the name of Allah.

"Fear not, when you carry me," Azrael said to him, and her eyes hung upon a star which shone above her head, shining through the tatters of the scurrying clouds.

The skiff reached the sh.o.r.e of the Margaret island. The damsel got out, and her last bracelet dropped from her hand into the hand of the boatman.

"Remember me, and begone."

"Dost thou remain here?"

"No."

"Whither wilt thou go?"

Azrael answered nothing, but pointed mutely to the sky.

The boatman did not understand much about it; but, anyhow, he understood that he could not give the damsel a lift up there, so he drew back his canoe and departed.

Azrael remained alone on the island, quite alone; for that day everyone had been withdrawn by command of the Vizier; the damsels, the guards, and the eunuchs had all migrated to the fortress, the paradise was empty and uninhabited.

Azrael strolled the whole length of the sh.o.r.e of the island. The mortars were still thundering down from the fortress, the hors.e.m.e.n were still shouting on the river's bank, the signal fires were blazing on the bastions, the night was dark, the wind blew tempestuously and scattered the leaves of the trees--but she saw neither the beacon fires, nor the darkness; she heard neither the tumult of men nor the howling of the blast; in her soul there was the light of heaven and an angelic harmony with which no rumour, no shape of the outer world would intermingle.

She came to the kiosk in the centre of the island. Wandering aimlessly she had hit upon the labyrinthine way to it unawares. The sudden view of the summer-house startled her, and it awoke a two-fold sensation in her heart, it appealed equally to her memory and her imagination. She bethought her of the resolve she had made on coming to the island. She remembered that when she parted from the youth of her heart she had said: "When thou comest to thy kiosk, do not lie down to sleep; sit down at thy window, and look towards the island in the direction of the dawn.

This night will be soon over, and the dawn will dawn more quickly than at other times. When thou seest it think of me and say for me the prayer of direction for the departing."

She reflected that the youth must now be sitting at the window, looking towards the island, with his fine eyes weary of staring into the darkness. She would not weary those fine eyes for long.

She hastily opened the door with her silver key and entered the hall. A hanging lamp was burning in the room just as the servants had left it in the morning. She drew forth a wax taper, and having lit it, proceeded to the other rooms, which opened one out of another, and whose floors were covered by precious oriental carpets, whose walls were inlaid with all manner of woods brought from foreign countries, and covered with tapestries, all splendid masterpieces of eastern art; the atmosphere of the rooms was heavy with intoxicating perfumes.

All this was frightful, abominable to her now. As she walked over the carpets, it was as if she were stepping on burning coals; when she inhaled the scented atmosphere, it was as though she were breathing the corruption of the pestilence; everything in these rooms awoke memories of sin and disgust in her heart--costly costumes, porcelain vases, silver bowls, all of them the playthings of loathsome moments, whose keenest punishment was that she was obliged to remember them.

But they shall all perish. And if they all perish, if these symbols of sin and the hundred-fold more sinful body itself become dust, then surely the soul will remember them no more? Surely it will depart far, far away--perchance to that distant star--and will be happy like the others who are near to G.o.d and know nothing of sin, but are full of the comfort of the infinite mercy of G.o.d, who has permitted them to escape from hence?

With the burning torch in her hand she went all through the rooms, tearing down the curtains and tapestries, and piling them all on the divan; and when she entered the last of the rooms she saw a pale white figure coming towards her from its dark background. The shape was as familiar to her as if she had seen it hundreds of times, although she knew not where; and its face was so gentle, so unearthly--a grief not of this world suffused its handsome features and the joy of heaven flashed from its calm, quiet eyes--its hair clung round its head in tiny curls, as guardian-angels are painted.

The damsel gazed appalled at this apparition. She fancied Heaven had sent her the messenger of the forgiveness of her sins; but it was her own figure reflected from a mirror concealed in the dark background--that gentle, downcast, sorrowful face, those pure, shining eyes she had never seen in a mirror before; the cut-off hair increased the delusion.

Tremblingly she sank on her knees before this apparition, and touching the ground with her face, lay sobbing there for some time; and when she again rose up, it appeared to her as if that apparition extended towards her its snow-white arms full of pity, full of compa.s.sion; and when she raised her hands to Heaven it also pointed thither, raising a face transformed by a sublime desire. No, she could not recognise that face as her own, never before had she seen it so beautiful.