Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara - William Le Queux

In Society she has become popular, and her “at homes” are always crowded. Sometimes, when visiting, she will sing an Arab song, and entertain a small circle of her closest friends by giving them selections of music upon Arab instruments. The intricacies of piano-strumming she has never mastered. On every hand, indeed, my graceful desert-bride receives boundless admiration. There are many beautiful women in London, but it is agreed, I believe, that the countenance of none is more perfect in its symmetry and more pleasing in its expression than that of the Daughter of the Sun.

The Omen of the Camel’s Hoof has not, after all, been finally fulfilled, for we live an almost idyllic life of peaceful bliss. My wife’s diamonds, which are so often commented upon by the papers, are the same that for a thousand years constituted the magnificence of the Great White Diadem. The little wooden tablet, upon which is inscribed the key to the extraordinary enigma, is preserved in my study; the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, with its mystic geometrical device, is a conspicuous object upon the wall, and over it, suspended by its original thongs of camel’s hide, there hangs the worn and battered Drum of Nâr.

They formed my wife’s dowry, and, besides demonstrating a remarkable scientific fact, they have brought us sufficient of this world’s riches to secure us ease and luxury.

Truly, my lot has fallen in a fair place. At last, in the bright sunshine of Zoraida’s affection, the most perfect happiness is mine.

The End.