"Yes. Abul Malek. You have heard of me?"
"Who has not? Aye, you were rightly called 'Flower of the World.' But—this music! It brought me here against my will; it pulls at me like straining horses. Why is that? What wizardry do you possess? What strange chemistry?"
She laughed lightly. "I possess no magic art. We are akin, you and I.
That is all. You, of all men, are attuned to me."
"No," he said, heavily. "You are an Infidel, I am a Christian. There is no bond between us."
"So?" she mocked. "And yet, when I sing, you can hear the nightingales of Aden; I can take you with me to the fields of battle, or to the innermost halls of the Alhambra. I have watched you many times, Brother Joseph, and I have never failed to play upon your soul as I play upon my own. Are we not, then, attuned?"
"Your veil!" he cried, accusingly. "I have never beheld a Moorish woman's face until now."
Her lids drooped, as if to hide the fire behind them, and she replied, without heeding his words: "Sit here, beside me. I will play for you."
"Yes, yes!" he cried, eagerly. "Play! Play on for me! But—I will stand."
Accordingly she resumed her instrument; and o'er its strings her rosy fingers twinkled, while with witchery of voice and beauty she enthralled him. Again she sang of love, reclinging there like an houri fit to grace the paradise of her Prophet; and the giant monk became a puppet in her hands. Now, although she sang of love, it was a different love from that which Joseph knew and worshiped; and as she toyed with him his hot blood warred with his priestly devotion until he was racked with the tortures of the pit. But she would not let him go. She lured him with her eyes, her lips, her luscious beauty, until he heard no song whatever, until he no longer saw visions of spiritual beatitude, but flesh, ripe flesh, aquiver and awake to him.
A cry burst from him. Turning, he tore himself away and went crashing blindly through the thicket like a bull pursued. On, on he fled, down to the monastery and into the coolness of his cell, where, upon the smooth, worn flags, he knelt and struggled with this evil thing which accursed his soul.