"And are not seven drops of your blood seven lakes to me?" declared Richard. The arrows flew past him, but he stood with his mailed body between Mary and the window, until Musa had made a bandage of the tapestry and Morgiana could hide the light. Brave were his wife's words, and brave her face, but Longsword heard her murmur, "Sweet Mother of Jesus—let the next arrow touch my breast, and end there all the pain."
"Ah! little wife," said he, when he kissed her, "I do not think God will vex you much longer. Surely He will save us soon for earth, or for heaven!"
A voice was ringing down the darkened gallery,—Iftikhar's voice. "You Franks and Cid Musa: again, I demand, will you yield the Greek and go free?"
"We will not!" thundered Godfrey, unhesitatingly.
"Bismillah!" came reply. "You have chosen. Behold!"
A kettledrum boomed once, twice; and as a fresh flight of arrows dashed into the room, suddenly lights darted across the palace lawn below. A cry broke from Godfrey:—
"Fire! They have brought straw to the entrance and will so destroy us. Iftikhar is mad thus to ruin his palace!"
Morgiana looked at him quietly.
"He is no more mad than for many a day. You know little his passion for Mary. This wing of the palace is partly severed from the rest; but Iftikhar will burn all El Halebah to destroy us!"
Already below sprang a crackle, a roar, as the night wind caught the flame. In a moment up drifted a puff of smoke, a red glare ever brightening.