I attempted to remove her yashmack; but she exclaimed,—
'In the name of Allah, not yet—not yet!' and shrinking laughingly back, with pretty coquetry, prevented me from doing so.
After a little flirtation, and permitting me to kiss her hands as often as I pleased, from a few words she let fall, greatly to my alarm, I suspected that she was a married Moselema; but I was now too much involved with her to 'hang fire,' as we say at mess; and too much attracted by her beauty—though I had seen but little of it—to relinquish the chance of enlivening my dull detachment duty by a little love affair—though death, perhaps, should hover near it. The imminent risk we ran enhanced the charm of this new acquaintance. The darkness was deepening, for in these climates there is little twilight; and alarmed by the sombre aspect of the ruins, which were haunted, of course, by a Ghoule, Iola (a charming name!); started from my side, and insisted on retiring.
'Take these three rose-buds,' said I, for flowers are the language of love among the Asiatics; 'three on one stem. Iola—they are emblematic of the three qualities of love.'
'Of love?' she reiterated, in a tremulous whisper.
'Sprightly, secret, and sincere love, as ours shall be. Will you accept of them from me?'
She trembled like one about to do a guilty thing; but took them with a blush and something like a sob of joy; yet this excitable little one would not permit me to kiss her!
'You will wear them for my sake, Iola?'
'There is danger in doing so—yet I will treasure them even when faded, like the jewel of Prince Giamschid; and what is my reward?'
'Your reward?' I faltered, while reddening in turn.