“My lord sleeps?” came Ourida’s voice from miles away, thrilling strangely.
“Um . . . ah! . . . almost,” Ortho mumbled. “Where . . . you . . . going?” She had slipped from under him; he had an impulse to grasp her hand, then felt it was too much trouble.
“Listen, Saïd el Ingliz,” said Ourida in his ear, enunciating with great clarity. “You are going to sleep forever, you swine!”
He forced his weighted lids apart. She was bending right over him. He could see her face by the glow of the brazier, transformed, exultant; her teeth were locked together and showing; her eyes glittered.
“Forever,” she hissed. “Do you hear me?”
“Drugged, by God!” thought Ortho. “Drugged, poisoned, fooled like a fat palace eunuch!”
Fury came upon him. He fought the drowse with all the power that was in him, sat up, fell back again.
The girl laughed shrilly.
He tried to shout for help, for the negress, achieved a whisper.
“She has gone for sweetmeats and will loiter hours,” mocked the girl. “Call louder; call up your thousand fine lancers. Oh, great Kaid Rahal, Standard Bearer to be!”