"You are come in state, my lord," said the Greek, while he made profound obeisance. "What may I do for you?"
"O lady of excellent beauty," he began abruptly, "will you indeed give your hand to him who conquers to-morrow?"
The wandering eye, the flushed cheek, the mad fire of his words—all these were a warning. Mary drew herself up.
"You ask what you have no right, my lord," answered she; "I am in no way pledged."
Unlucky admission: in a twinkling the emir had moved a step toward her and stretched out his arms.
"Oh, happy mortal that I am! O lady with the wisdom of Sukman, nephew of Job, the beauty of Jacob, the sweet voice of David, the purity of Mary the Virgin! Listen! Favor me!"
"Sir!" cried the Greek, recoiling as he advanced, "what is this speech? No more of it. I am Christian, you a Moslem. Friends we have been, perhaps to our cost. More than that, never; we part, if you think to make otherwise!"
Iftikhar fell on his knees. All the flame of a terrible passion was kindling his eyes. Even as she trembled, Mary could admire his Oriental splendor. But she did not forget herself.
"I must bid you leave me!" with a commanding gesture. "If our friendship leads to this—it is well to make an end!"
"Not so," burst from the Egyptian, still supplicating; "none worship you as do I! To me you are fair as the moon in its fourteenth night, when the clouds withdraw. For your sake I will turn Christian. To win you—" But Mary was in no gracious mood that night.