"One face I see, the Greek, the Greek, Mary Kurkuas. She is struggling—in vain; a mighty arm holds her; a great warrior bears her. Allah! I know him; I would not tell his name!" But Iftikhar had broken forth almost sternly:—
"Speak, speak, woman! Who is the warrior you see against the smoke?" The words turned the trend of the spell. Morgiana moved more gently as she repeated in quick rhythm:—
"Now the smoke weaveth in mystical figure; I see the hosts marching, I see the hosts warring, I see the strife swaying Like wrestling swift winds!
"'Twixt Frankland and Eastland the conflict sore wageth; I see the Greek flower transported beside thee, Thine eyes,—they behold her; Thy arms,—they enfold her; Thy heart is as flame!—"
"Allah akhbar!" burst from Iftikhar, starting. And at the cry, Morgiana had given another, and fell so suddenly that only a quick snatch by Zeyneb saved her from striking the brazier. She was speechless, pallid, when they lifted her; Kerbogha would have declared her dead. But Iftikhar drew from his bosom a crystal vial, in which glowed a liquor red as vermilion. Three drops he laid upon her lips; and lo, there was a flush of color, and in a moment the woman was sitting upon the rugs and glancing at them with shy, scared eyes. Iftikhar beckoned to Kerbogha, who bowed and withdrew; but Zeyneb remained. All the glitter and madness had passed from Morgiana's face. Zeyneb knelt and kissed her hand, which lay limp within his own.
"You see I have returned safe from my long journey, Moon of Yemen; can you wish me no joy?"
The languid eyes lighted a little.
"Allah is merciful; I am very weary." This last to Iftikhar.
"Verily," cried the Egyptian, "you should not make the magic smoke; see, you are frail as a lily of Damascus; a sigh of the south wind would destroy you. Have I not forbidden it?"
"Lord," replied the lady, raising her eyes, now touched with a soft, sweet fire, "the hour came to me to-day. As the bird must fly north in springtime, so must I drink the hemp smoke, when the genii bid, or die. Ah, lord—I saw in the smoke shapes—terrible shapes—they are gone; the shadow still hangs over me; yet I know this—woe, woe, woe, awaits,—for you, for Zeyneb, for me. I am sad; my heart is torn."