She took my hand in hers, and drawing my own ring from my finger, replaced it by her strange-looking talisman, afterwards slipping my own ring upon her hand. A sob escaped her. “We have exchanged rings!” she exclaimed brokenly, looking up into my face with tear-stained, world-weary eyes. Then, clutching her bare breast as if to still the throbbing of her heart, she cried, “When—when thou art far away, thou wilt, peradventure, sometimes gaze upon mine, and remember that a service was once rendered thee by a poor, unhappy woman—thou wilt recollect that her name is Fathma Khadidja—that—that—ah! forgive me, for I am mad! mad!”
Raising my hand to her warm lips, she kissed it passionately with all the fire and ardour of the Child of the Sun. Then, releasing me, she tottered back, panting, and sank upon her silken divan, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break.
“Cama tafâkal kathalika tolâ ki,” I said, quoting at random from the Korân. “Come, come,” I added sympathetically, sinking down beside her, tenderly stroking her long, silky tresses. “Despair not. The One Worthy of Praise knoweth how thou sufferest, and will give unto thee strength in the hour of thy need, and bring thee into the shadow of the great lote tree.”
“Ah! Thy mouth uttereth pearls of wisdom,” she cried wildly. “But I have touched thee, a Touareg, and am accursed by Allah. I care nought for the future, for already am I forsaken, already have I tasted of the bitter fruit of Al-Zakkum, and am doomed to the torture of Al-Hâwiyat, the place prepared for the evil-doers.” Then, raising her face to mine, with an intense look of passionate love, she said in a soft, sibilant whisper, “Once only! Kiss me once! Then thou mayest go, and never shall we meet—never!”
Her beautiful head fell upon my shoulder, and her hair—soft as spun silk—strayed across my face. For a moment her lips met mine in a hot, passionate kiss, a caress enough to make any man’s head reel.
“I love thee,” she whispered, in low, half-frightened tones, as she clung to me, and would not allow me to release myself. “Unseen by thee, I have watched thee many moons, and to-night have I brought thee hither to tell thee—to confess to thee my secret.”
I tried to draw my lingering lips from hers, but with the fire of passion gleaming in her brilliant eyes she gripped me with a force I should not have supposed her capable of.
“Stay,” she whispered. “Without thee the canker-worm of love eateth away my heart.”
But I tore myself from her and left.