"Light of my heart," exclaimed the Greek, "let the jackals prey on me—beasts or more cruel men,—if they be not Iftikhar Eddauleh!"
"Curse him not," blazed the other; "not even you shall speak him ill. Fool, that you do not love him!"
Mary was tearing off her silken dress.
"Morgiana," she said very quietly, "you know the presses where the eunuchs keep their clothes:—bring me a vest and mantle, and a turban,—the coarsest you can find; and heavy shoes, if any fit me. St. Theodore," she cried, looking down at the white thongs of her sandals, where the gems were shining, "how miserable to have such small feet!"
Morgiana obeyed without a word.
"Your skin! Your face white as milk!" she protested, when Mary stood in the costume of a serving-page.
The Greek laughed. "Have I not mocked you often for your Persian 'light of the cheeks' which you keep in that casket? Take your pencils and your kohl, and make me dark and tanned as a true Syrian! Haste; the night is flying!" As she spoke, an iron ball dropped from the water-clock in the corner upon a bell. "An hour after midnight. Quick, if you love me and love yourself!"
Morgiana did her task with all deftness.
"They will search for you. You will be pursued at dawn!"
"Say to Iftikhar," was the ready answer, "that I have wandered from the palace vowing to cast myself in the lake. Let him bid his 'devoted' seek me there."