And thus did Khalid spend his halcyon months in the desert. Here was an arcadia, perfect but brief. For his delight in infant worship, and in the new Love which was budding in beauty and profusion, and in tending his sick cousin who was recovering her health, and in the walks around the ruins in the desert with his dearest comrade and friend,––these, alas, were joys of too pure a nature to endure. 341
AL-KHATIMAH
“But I can not see all that you see.”
“Then you do not love me.”
“Back again to Swedenborg––I told you more than once that he is not my apostle.”
“Nor is he mine. But he has expressed a great truth, Jamïlah. Now, can you love me in the light of that truth?”
“You are always asking me that same question, Khalid. You do not understand me. I do not believe in marriage. I tried it once; I will not try it again. I am married to Buhaism. And you Khalid––remember my words––you will yet be an apostle––the apostle––of Buhaism. And you will find me with you, whether you be in Arabia, in America, or in Egypt. I feel this––I know it––I am positive about it. Your star and mine are one. We are born under the same star. We are now in the same orbit, approaching the same nadir. We are ruled by our stars. I believe this, and you don’t. At least, you say you don’t. But you do. You don’t know your own mind. The trend of the current of your life is beyond your grasp, beyond your comprehension. I know. And you must listen to me. You must follow my advice. If you can not come with me now to the States, you will await me here. I am called on a pressing business. And within three months, 342 at the most, I shall return and find you waiting for me right here, in this desert.”
“I can not understand you.”
“You will yet.”