"'Tell me,' she cried, 'tell me, where am I? What is this place? Am I dead at last?'
"He soothed her. 'You are in my country,' he said very gently. 'Now it is your country, as I am yours. You are not dead but living, and brimming with the love I languish for; and here you will stay with me, and we will love one another very tenderly in the heart of my gloom, and you will be my bride.
"'Oh, listen to me!' he cried, when she would have answered. 'Many slim and delicate girls have come to me through the mirror of the pool, but none such as you, with a warm soul floating on your face and a bosom aching for love. When first I saw you I yearned for you, I coveted you. The thought of you was my food and drink, and stayed my eyes from sleep; I set my spell on the waters that they should slumber and hold your image unbroken, and now I have you; you are here with me. You are mine.'
"He was glowing with a kind of eagerness it hurts one to rebuff, and she watched him, her fears under control, with a growing wonder.
"'Yes,' she said slowly. 'It must be true, then—that old tale. You are Tagalash!'
"He smiled. I am Tagalash,' he answered.
"'But,' she said, 'I am white!' For no one had ever heard of any but Kafir brides for Tagalash.
"He shrank a little, but smiled yet beseechingly, as he would have her cease that part of the tale.
"'You are so beautiful,' he urged, come with me to my house, will you not?'
"But that she would not do, and moved not from her place on the grassed knoll throughout her stay in the shadows— something like a week.