The emir led the lions down the long avenue opened for them by the ranks of the Ismaelians, amid the admiring women,—straight toward the lake; and as the car moved, the Greek fire sprang from the very water, red and blue, fantastic flame-columns, whose brightness blotted out the stars. As they advanced, the multitude closed after them; the torches on the palace doubled, trebled; every dome and minaret was traced in light; the music swayed and throbbed like the sighs of an ocean surf. They reached the shore; a second carpet of lilies; a boat, long, narrow, bowered in roses; a high canopy of flowers in the bow; a single negro eunuch standing like an ebon statue at the stern, poising his oar.
"Come!" so again Iftikhar spoke; Mary dismounted. He led her to the boat, seated her upon the roses. The multitude upon the shore stood in silence, all their praises in their eyes. The music was hushed for an instant. Iftikhar nodded to the rower. The oar dipped noiselessly. The boat glided from the shore gently as the tread of a spirit. Iftikhar sat upon the flower-strewn floor of the skiff, looking up into Mary's eyes. This was the end, praise God it was the end; she would do no more now! Iftikhar had conquered. Who of mortal stuff would fail to bend before such love as his; and he—was he not worth all loving?
Neither said a word for a long time. The distance betwixt quay and boat widened slowly. The lights from the gardens spread out shimmering paths of fire upon the black waters. The only sound was the distant music once more throbbing from the palace, the dim shouts of the revellers within the groves, and the drip of the water from the noiseless oar. On high above the feathery palms crept the round disk of the moon. At last Iftikhar, never taking away his gaze, said: "O Mary, my own,—at last, at last,—I have made all good. You are mine now—body, soul, forever; for even in Paradise those who love are not sundered. For you will I strive to win glory as never man strove; a year, two years, and I lead you into Bagdad, first princess of the world. Hassan Sabah grows old; his glory passes to me, to you, whose slave I am,—and you shall be adored from the rising of the sun to its setting."
"Ah! Iftikhar—" but Mary said no more; the emir had interrupted her. "Mine are no vain dreams. Kerbogha, lord of Mosul, is gathering all the might of Mesopotamia for our service. Amaz, emir of Fars, is with us; and the exiled Vizier Muejjed. The Fatimite kalif of Cairo is our ally, if all else prosper. Soon—soon—Bakyarok, the arch-sultan, is fallen, the phantom kalif of Bagdad vanished away, and the hour for the Ismaelians is come."
Again Mary's lips opened; but the emir checked her.
"IFTIKHAR TOOK FROM THE SEAT A LITTLE LUTE, TOUCHED THE STRINGS, AND SANG"
"O my own! why speak of this to-night? Hark, let me sing if I may, as Antar the hero sang the praise of Abla, whose love he won by labors greater than mine; hearken."
And Iftikhar took from the seat a little lute, touched the strings, and sang, while his rich voice stole softly over the waters:—