Maie stared at him as if amazed, as in truth she was. Then her head fell back and from her slender throat burst a peal of merriment that was well-nigh irresistible. She sprang up lightly, dropping her outer robe, and cast herself with abandon into the old man’s arms, clinging to his neck and nestling within his lap while her laughter filled his ears like the sweet chime of silver bells.
“Oh, my foolish, ridiculous old father!” she cried, while kissing his forehead and smoothing his beard over her bosom, like a mantle. “Has the serpent of folly bitten you? What monster of Agoum put such dreadful thoughts of your little Maie into your suspicious head? An infidel! Has the Prophet forsaken me? Were I lacking in any modesty—which Allah forbid!—would a daughter of Raab choose an infidel?”
Agahr held her tight, and his heart softened.
“The tale was brought to me, and I could not but doubt,” he said, doggedly. “But I am very glad to find you innocent, my precious one. Forget the words, Maie, for they were inspired by a lying tongue—one that I will tear out by the roots at tomorrow’s sunrise!”
He arose from his seat, clasping her in his arms like a little child, and carried her to a divan, where he gently laid her down. Then he bent over and kissed both her cheeks.
“I must go now,” said he. “Midnight approaches, and I must be at the gate to admit Kasam.”
“You will disguise yourself?” she asked, holding one of his hands as she gazed up at him.
“I shall cover my head with a cloak. Beni-Bouraz is Captain of the Guard, and he must know it is the Vizier who commands him to open. Afterward it will not matter who recognizes me.”
“Be careful,” she cautioned. “We must guard against treachery. Are you sure no one knows our plot?”
“The messenger who returned from Kasam is dead. Yamou attended to him.”