"Zahra!" he repeated; but his voice was strange, and he tore at the cloth that bound his throat, stumbling after her, guided only by her voice.
Always she was just beyond his reach; always she eluded him; yet never did he lose the perfume of her presence nor the rustle of her silken garments. Over and over he cried her name, until at last he realized from the echo of his calling that he had come into a room of great dimensions and that the girl was gone.
For an instant he was in despair, until her voice reached him from above:
"I do but test you, Christian priest. I am waiting."
"'Flower of the World,'" he stammered, hoarsely. "Whence lead the stairs?"
"And do you love me, then?" she queried, in a tone that set him all ablaze.
"Zahra," he repeated, "I shall perish for want of you."
"How do you measure this devotion?" she insisted, softly. "Will it cool with the dawn, or are you mine in truth forever and all time?"
"I have no thought save that of you. Come, Light of my Soul, or I shall die."
"Do you then adore me above all things, earthly and heavenly, that you forsake your vows? Answer, that my arms may enfold you."