It was a strange inartistic-looking exterior, but, ere I had time to gaze around, the heavy iron-studded door swung open, and, entering, we passed through a narrow vestibule, or skiffa, into a spacious oust, or open court, where a vine trailed above and a fountain fell gently into its marble basin. Then, for the first time since we left the Jardin Marengo, my guide spoke. In a low half-whisper, she said—
“Thy voice must not be heard. This meeting is strictly secret, therefore follow me in silence and noiselessly.”
“Ma ansash,” I replied.
“And thy promise?” she whispered.
“My oath bindeth me to obey her.”
“Then thou art truly the Amîn. Peace be unto thee, and upon thy descendants and companions,” she said. “Hush! make no noise. Let us seek her.”
Crossing the dark courtyard, she unlocked a small door, and I followed her in. The mingled perfume of musk, geranium, and attar of rose was almost overpowering, and my feet fell with noiseless tread upon a thick, soft carpet. A great hanging lamp of filigree brass shed a welcome ray, and as we ascended the broad stair, I thought I heard whisperings and the rustle of silken garments. Upstairs, a big, handsomely-dressed negro stood apparently awaiting us, for, with a sharp, inquiring glance and the exchange of some whispered words in Kabyle dialect, which I could not distinctly catch, he conducted me along a well-carpeted passage to the end, where closed plush curtains barred our passage.
As I advanced, he suddenly drew them aside, and in a low deep voice announced me in Arabic, inviting me to enter.
Stepping forward, I gazed around in curiosity and amazement.
I was in the harem!
Chapter Thirteen.
Night in the Harem.
“Ah, Ce-cil! At last!—at last! Marhaba.”
There was a movement on the other side of the dimly-lit, luxurious chamber, and from her silken divan Zoraida half rose to greet me. Reclining with languorous grace upon a pile of silken cushions, her hand outstretched in glad welcome, the jewels she wore flashed and gleamed under the antique Moorish hanging lamp with an effect that was bewildering. But alas! from her eyes to her chin a flimsy veil still concealed her features.
Taking her small white hand, I stood by the divan and looked down at her steadily in silence, then raised her fingers slowly and reverently to my lips.
The curtains had fallen; we were alone.
Presently, when we had gazed into each other’s eyes with tender, passionate earnestness, I addressed her in Arab simile as light of my life from the envy of whose beauty the sun was confused, and told her how slowly time had dragged along since I had escaped from the poison of the asp; how glad I was to bow once again before the Daughter of the Sun.
She listened to my affectionate words without replying. One of her little pale green slippers had fallen off, leaving a tiny bare foot lying white upon the dark silk.
Her dress was gorgeous, fully in keeping with her costly surroundings. She was a veiled enchantress in gold-spangled embroidery, filmy gauzes, and silver brocade. Her dark crimson velvet rlila, or jacket, cut very low at the throat, exposing her white, bare breast, was heavily embroidered with gold, the little chachia stuck jauntily on the side of her head was of the same hue, thickly ornamented with seed pearls, while her wide, baggy serroual, reaching only mid-leg, were of palest eau de nil silk, fine as gauze, and brocaded with tiny coloured flowers. Her vest, that showed below the rlila, was of silver brocade, and her sash, of many-coloured stripes, was looped in front, the fringes hanging gracefully. Across her forehead a string of gold sequins was stretched, with a centre-piece consisting of a great cluster of lustrous diamonds, while three particularly fine gems, set in pendants, hung upon her white brow. Around her slim, delicate throat were two splendid diamond necklaces, a dozen rows of seed pearls, and a necklet composed of large, golden Turkish coins. Suspended by four heavy gold chains about her neck was her golden perfume-bottle, encrusted with roughly-cut diamonds and sapphires; on her arms she wore mesais of gold and silver studded with gems, her fingers glittered with diamonds, and on her neat, bare ankles golden redeefs jingled.
Indeed, she was the fairest and most dazzling woman my eyes had ever gazed upon.
The air of the harem was heavy with sweet perfumes, mingling with the sensuous odour of burning pastilles. In the apartment everything betokened wealth and taste. The silken divans, with their downy, brightly-coloured cushions, the priceless inlaid tables, the genuinely antique cabinets with doors of mother-of-pearl, the Eastern rugs of beautifully-blended shades, the rich embroideries, and the profusion of flowers, all combined to render it the acme of comfort and luxury, and graced by such a bewitching vision of Eastern beauty, the scene seemed more like a glimpse of fairyland than a reality.
“Thou hast not forgotten me, then?” she said, raising herself slowly, and placing under her handsome head a cushion of pale primrose silk.
“No,” I replied. “How can I ever forget thee?”
Her white breast rose and fell in a deep-drawn sigh.
“Already Allah, the Most Merciful, hath directed thy footsteps and vouchsafed me the felicity of conversing with thee. Thou hast kept thy promise unto me, O Cecil, for when the homards would follow us, thou didst not betray our whereabouts. Therefore I trust thee.”
“I assure thee that any confidence thou placest in me shall never be abused,” I replied. “Yet,” I added, “thou dost not place in me that perfect trust that I have.”
“Why?” she asked, in quick surprise.
“Still hidden from my gaze is that countenance I am longing to look upon.”
“Wouldst thou have me cast aside my religion? I am a woman; remember what is written,” she exclaimed, half reproachfully.
“The adoration of the Christian is none the less passionate than the love of the True Believer,” I said. “A woman is not defiled by the gaze of the man she loveth. But,” I added thoughtfully, “perhaps, after all, thou hast no thought of me, and my fond belief that in thy breast burneth the fire of love is only a vain delusion.”
“Thou—thou thinkest I can care nothing for thee—a Roumi? Why?” she cried, starting up.
“Because of thy refusal to unveil.”
She hesitated; her brows were momentarily contracted. Her hand trembled.
“Then, though I cast aside the creed of my forefathers and the commands of the Prophet, I give thee definite answer. See!” With a sudden movement she withdrew a golden pin, and, tearing away her white silken veil, her countenance was revealed.
I stood amazed, fascinated, half fearing that the wondrous vision of beauty was only a chimera of my distorted imagination that would quickly fade.