“I can tell you nothing,” withdrawing his eyes from those dazzling black orbs, and gazing fixedly into the river.
“Oh, Kareem, alas! my first word was true, you no longer care for me;” and her eyes filled with pure crocodile’s tears.
“I do, I do, beyond any treasure in the world,” he protested eagerly.
“Yes” (so there was a treasure), “but you only pretend to love me; it is all from the mouth, like idle words.”
“No, it is from my heart and soul; but you in your heart care not for me, you care for Mindoo. You laughed the day I came home in my syce’s clothes—you laughed when Hiram’s white Arab nearly killed me.”
“Pooh”—snapping her fingers playfully—“what is a laugh? I always laugh! See, I still wear your blue glass bangles. I love finery; I love laughing—and I love you. Oh, foolish Kareem, how shall I prove it to you, since you doubt my word? Speak!”
“Marry me in two moons’ time,” was his prompt answer.
“Yes,” after a long pause, “but I must also prove you; I swear by Allah to marry you, but first you must tell me your secret.”
And she looked up into his face and smiled, and he, gazing at her parted red lips and glistening, eager eyes, wavered. She saw her advantage, and instantly pressed it home.
Oh! miserable youth! why did you not attend to that cry of warning in your ears—“Blind man, blind man, blind man”?