“Let the white woman, with a name like a drop of water which droppeth from a spout, write unto the white man and bid him hasten to her to deliver her from danger. If he loves her he will speed upon the wings of love, as I would speed if danger should threaten thee, woman of a thousand beauties.”
“Oh, thou!” contemptuously replied Zarah, as she pulled the ears of the lion cub which sprawled at her feet. “Nay, thy words are as empty of wisdom as the pod of the bean that is in the pot. Thou knowest not the white race. It weeps over a hurt done to a beast; it bares its breast to receive the spear thrown at another; it will suffer torture, yea, even death, to shield a brother from harm.”
She sat for a long moment, then looked sideways into the man’s eyes and smiled until he waxed faint with love.
“A light shines, O Asad of the lion heart. I will go, when she waketh from her sleep, and make friends with her and work upon her feelings of friendliness for one who sojourned with her in the thrice accursed school. She will then bid the white man hither to join in the circle of friendliness, and then——” She laughed softly as she opened her hand and closed the fingers slowly.
“And then, Zarah, thou merciless one, what then?”
“Then will I replace her in the heart of the man I love and give her to thee, as wife or what thou wilt, so that in thy sons the blackness of thy blood may be equalled by the whiteness of hers, and her days be passed in one long torment through the different colouring of her offspring.”
But Al-Asad was in no wise inclined to her way of thinking, and said so in blunt, crude words. He made no movement as he told her of the love which consumed him; he did not raise his musical voice one tone as he described the heaven of his days when near her and the hell when separated from her, even for a few hours; he repeated the story of his love stubbornly, quietly, over and over again, and made no sign of his hurt when she laughed aloud in merriment.
“Behold, O Asad!” she cried as she laughed. “Behold, art thou as perverse as the mule and as blind to thine own advancement as is Yussuf—that thrice accursed thorn in my side—to the sun in his path. A beauteous maid, white as ivory, gentle as the breeze of dawn, awaits thee but a few steps higher upon the mountainside, and yet dost thou sit, like a graven image of despair, within the shadow of one whose love is given elsewhere.”
“Love!” repeated the half-caste slowly. “Thou and love! ’Twere enough to make the mountains split with laughter to hear thee! Let us cease this foolish talk. I love thee, Zarah, and will have none other woman but thee; but I love thee so well that, rather than see thee suffer the torment I suffer, I would bring thee thy heart’s desire and find in thy happiness my happiness and death!”