“Yes, she is my wife,” said Desmond.
“Wife—ah! that is the word. Now rest among the cushions of the Bhors. Rooms are prepared for you. Sleep, my friends, until the Kymo rises twice again. Then refreshed and strong we will welcome you among us, and listen with interest to your story.”
The Jkak’s palace was of a glorious green marble, highly polished. In the entrance hall was a huge fountain. Six beautiful maidens, their garments chiselled out of coloured marble, held large shells from which poured water into the basin beneath. The figures were life size, and gracefully moulded. Lovely water flowers grew all around, and coloured fish swam in and out among the pebbles and plants.
Up a wide stairway, which branched out into large galleries, the strangers were carried, the Jkak himself leading the way, as if he were doing homage to the Rorka himself. They wended their way through a narrower passage which widened out again into a spacious loggia. In the very centre of this space four malachite pillars, highly polished, supported a crystal shell out of which poured sparkling waters into a pond beneath. There were six doors round the loggia; at the first the Jkak stopped, opening it himself, led the way in. With gentle hands Desmond and Mavis were transferred to soft, downy beds. “Rest, my friends, and sleep until Morkaba brings you wine and food.” Then the other three were taken to separate sleeping apartments, where their weary limbs rested in contentment on the soft, downy cushions.
Desmond and Mavis’s room was perhaps the largest—a glorious room with a wide balcony upon which were growing the most beautiful creepers and plants—with wonderful perfumes and flowers. An enormous four poster bed stood in the centre of the room, with its back immediately in front of the door. A canopy of silk was overhead; there were no sheets or blankets upon it, but there was an abundance of cushions, and silken rugs of all hues. Easy chairs, plenty of mirrors and a dressing table furnished the room. The walls were of a polished pale pink marble, and the fittings, tapestries and silken hangings were all of colours that blended and made one harmonious whole. All the other rooms were similar, except in the colouring, and on the polished marble floors were spread rugs of exotic colours.
A silver bell tinkled! To Mavis, it sounded like the Angelus on a summer morning. She opened her eyes; again the bell sounded. “Where am I?” she cried, and with sudden remembrance. “Baby—where’s Baby?”
Desmond woke. “Where’s Baby, Dez?” she asked again piteously, and even as she spoke she heard the sound of a tiny chuckle, and by her side on a bed, the miniature of the one she was on, lay her baby, crooning with delight. The bell tinkled again. Desmond went to the door and opened it slightly. A smiling girl was outside with a table on wheels. “Your mushti,” said she wheeling it toward him.
“To eat?” queried Desmond.
“Of course. It is pleasant on the ‘vala,’ outside among the flowers—have it there with your friends.”
“Thank you. It’s breakfast, Mavis,” said Desmond. “Look out on the balcony and see if Uncle John is there.”