"O Star of the Greeks! I your slave have remembered that perchance even the charm of the halls of El Halebah may grow weary. Deign, I pray you, to be dressed this evening in such a dress as I have commanded Hakem to provide; for to-night all the daughters and maidens of Aleppo have been bidden to make free in these gardens, and there will be festival, such as Bagdad has seldom seen since the great feast of Moktader."
"I thank your lordship, I obey," said Mary, bowing. The emir's face lit with pleasure.
"And you, Morgiana," continued Iftikhar, more lightly, "you, with Eleanor, of course will not fail me. I would show these beauties of Aleppo that here hid in our groves are the fairest eyes in Syria."
"Cid," said Morgiana, haughtily, "if you command me, I will obey; otherwise, let me sleep and the rest dance."
"Ya!" cried Iftikhar, testily; "you are gloomy as Gann, lord of the evil jinns! No doing of mine can please you. Wallah, be it as you will! The Star of the Greeks is more kind. To-night! I swear the poets of Emir Redouan shall sing of the fête the whole year long!" So he was gone, and Morgiana turned fiercely on Mary. "Eblees and all his 'Sheytans' of the Pit pluck you away! What have you done? You said yes as though Iftikhar's words were sweet as honey of Lebanon. He will conquer you to-night! Are you blind? Not for the maidens of Aleppo, but for you, this fête is prepared. To-night he will be master of you, soul as well as body. Blind! blind!"
Mary looked into the Arab's face.
"O dear sister," came her words, "you say well. But I am not blind. What more can I do? Love him I do not, as you. But I am helpless; Iftikhar is lord. Better to have an end. Hate him I do not as I did once. Time is kind. I must bow my head, and pray God make me forget the past. There is no other way—none. I can fight the battle no more."
"Dearest heart," cried the Arab, "it is all true. You can do no more. If you were not so pure and lovely, I would have killed you long ago. Only do not triumph over me, when you have learned to love Iftikhar as do I."
"No, blessed soul," said the Greek, softly; "that may never be."