Orien could boast of but little acquaintance with Myrrah; his love had not been aroused by her virtues, or a knowledge of her surpassing excellence of heart and disposition; her exceeding beauty was the great attraction, which he could not withstand.
Many times chance had thrown the girl for a moment in his way, and the Moor had never failed to take the advantage of such moments to whisper words of ardent love, to which any reply was very seldom deigned. This silence and affectation of scorn, as he thought it, but increased the passion of the lover—his nature delighted in overcoming obstacles, and his determination was only strengthened by the cold reserve and dignity of Myrrah.
One night, as she was passing along the street in that quiet quarter of the city where her people lived, Orien, who had wandered there in the hope of catching but a glimpse of her face or person, appeared suddenly by her side.
“I have something to say to thee,” he exclaimed, abruptly; “thou knowest my name.”
“Yes, thou art son of the great Mazarin Fez—what dost thou here to-night?”
“To tell thee this. For a twelvemonth thou hast been more than sunlight to me. I have lived in shade and gloom, only when thou chanced to be near me. Listen now; I pray thee haste not so quickly. I am willing, ready, even this very night, if thou will it, to renounce my people, my station, my God, for thee! The shame and dishonor that is heaped upon the Jew, I am ready, glad to take upon myself if thou —”
“Nay, stop,” said Myrrah, indignantly pausing, and looking her suitor in the face, “there is no stain upon my people for thee to take upon thyself. The shame and the dishonor which crushes them belong to thy people who impose it. There is no love in the hearts of the daughters of Judah for the oppressors of their fathers.”
“Forgive me,” was the humble answer, “teach me words that I may plead my love without offending thee; be mine, Myrrah, and we will hasten to seek out a home where the cruel injustice of my fathers cannot visit yours. Be my wife, I will prove thy willing, humble slave forever!”
“Thou art speaking madly, Orien Fez. I tell thee I have fear of thee! Are thy people wont to become the slaves of mine? I love thee not.”
“Yes, I will bear even this, any thing from thee, if thou wilt only love me. I will deck thee with jewels that shall make thee look a queen; there shall be none preferred before thee. Would it not be joy to dwell where man has no power to crush, where thy place might be among the most honored of the earth? Oh, there are lands fairer than ours, more beautiful, more blessed, where the flowers of love wave forever in eternal sunshine of bliss—wilt thou not seek that land with me?”