"Kill me?" Morgiana threw back her black hair, and laughed as would an invulnerable jinn. "Kill me? Can you think of nothing worse?" And again she laughed.
The Egyptian shrank back a step or two, as she advanced. Suddenly her laughter ended, her voice became calm.
"Cid Iftikhar," she said quietly, "you see I am in no mood to receive commands to-night. Neither does Citt Mary crave your company. You have triumphed, my Cid. Doom favors you. You must not exult mercilessly. Be magnanimous; leave us alone this night."
Iftikhar responded almost perforce to this appeal.
"I grant anything in reason, Morgiana. Rage no more, I will leave you." And he was gone with a low salaam. Zeyneb made to follow him, but his foster-sister recalled.
"Zeyneb," said she, "I wish you to tell us of the state of the prisoners. Will Iftikhar return to see the execution?"
The dwarf showed his white teeth. He marvelled that Morgiana should question thus with Mary present, but, nothing loth, replied: "He will not; he goes to his chamber to sleep. In the morning they bring him the heads."
Mary's white cheeks grew whiter, but the Arabian did not hesitate.
"And when will the execution take place?"
Zeyneb grinned again. "The bells on the water-clock say it is the end of the fourth hour of the night; at the end of the fifth hour, unless the tribunal clears them,"—his grin broadened,—"Harun twists the cord."