"Not upon couch and silken cloth does the first-born draw its breath, but upon the sand with the desert wind upon his little head.
"I have no command for thee, beloved, because thou art of the West, where different customs rule, and I—I mind not—for my love for thee is above all custom, and all manner and fashioning of mankind! Choose then and I am satisfied!"
Once again two little hands shone dimly as they were raised, searching blindly.
"Take me into thy arms, beloved, and carry me to the desert sand, for behold, thy will is my will and my ways are henceforth thy ways! But hasten! for the moment is at hand. Hold me in thy strength for I faint!"
Tenderly the great man stooped and gathered the girl to his breast. Swiftly he crossed the threshold, and passing through the gate gently laid her down upon his mantle, stretched upon the ground.
* * * * * *
The wind of dawn blew the stars out one by one, the great plains of sand changed from purple to steel, to grey, to yellow.
The palms whispered gently together, the water sang on its swift way to the river, a faint movement everywhere heralded the coming of the day.
Motionless, Hahmed knelt beside Jill, whose snow-white face, half-ridden in the folds of cloth, looked like some faint spring flower in a world of shadows.
And then, as the woman whose unbound hair rippled in golden streams about the Arab's feet, put out her hands to grasp her master's robe, a long-drawn cry which spoke of pain and joy, death and ecstasy and Life, crept over the sands, rising, rising to the very heavens, to sink back in faintest moan to her who in that moment had fulfilled the miracle of Love.