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Again the half-witted brute who had urged the desirability of the hateful union turned to his companions, asking: “Is it thy desire that the Daughter of the Sun should be exalted and become our Queen of Delights and the Light of our Darkness?”
“Thy words are truly words of wisdom!” his companions cried loudly, with only two or three dissentients. “Our Ruler must take her as his wife.”
The cruel face of Hadj Absalam broadened into a benign smile, while Labakan’s eyes glittered with murderous craftiness, as, with hands tightly clasped and tears upon her beautiful cheeks, Zoraida made a final desperate appeal —
“A moment ago didst thou vow loyalty unto me, my brothers. Yet even now wilt thou force me into a loveless union that is distasteful – that – that will cause me to seek death by mine own hand! If I have offended, cast me from thee, but wreck not my happiness by an odious marriage! Ever have I been unswervingly loyal unto thee, and He in whose hand is the Kingdom of all Things will assuredly be swift in punishing those who seek my self-destruction. Blessings are the lot of the pure and the merciful. Force this not upon me, O my brothers! Hear and grant this my most fervent supplication!”
There was silence. Fierce words in her defence were upon the tip of my tongue, but – fortunately perhaps – I managed to suppress them.
“It is to-day, peradventure, too early to carry out my generous proposal,” Hadj Absalam observed, utterly unmoved by her appeal. “In one moon shall I compel the Lalla Zoraida to become the Pearl of my Harem.”
“Thy will be accomplished, O Ruler of exalted merit,” they answered. But the woman I loved, hearing his decision, clasped her hands to her temples, murmuring in dismay, “One moon! One moon!” and, taking two or three quick, uneven steps, tottered forward and fell heavily upon her face ere a hand could be outstretched to save her.
A dozen men rushed forth, I among the number. Water was given her quickly, and in obedience to an order from the Sheikh she was carried away, helpless and unconscious, to one of the apartments in the great harem, which, alas! was now strewn with the corpses of its former luxury-loving inmates. I dared not follow, so remained, to hear my companions extolling the wisdom of Hadj Absalam’s brutal decision.
Nauseated by the hideous sights of blood that everywhere met my gaze as I wandered through the spacious courts so familiar to me, the afternoon passed heavily. None of my companions, save the wounded, sought their siesta; all were too absorbed in their work of plunder, bringing the treasure they discovered before the Sheikh, who remained seated beneath the royal canopy, so that he might inspect all that was found. Every hole and corner of the spacious Fáda was ransacked, and the pile of gold and silver vessels, jewels, ornaments, and pearl-embroidered robes swelled larger and larger, until it formed a heap that reached almost to the painted ceiling of the pavilion. Backwards and forwards I passed unnoticed, for all were now totally absorbed in their diligent search for articles of value. My only thought was of Zoraida. The decree of the cruel, heartless Sultan of the Sahara had gone forth, endorsed by the decision of the people, and to rescue her from becoming an inmate of the old brigand’s harem seemed an impossibility.
An hour after sundown, as I was wandering through the wrecked Court of the Eunuchs, revisiting the scene of those toilsome days of my slavery, a veiled woman approached. Drawing aside her adjar, the bright, smiling face of Halima was revealed. The women we had left outside the city prior to the attack had already arrived, for in a few brief words she told me that Zoraida had been placed under her care. Her mistress, who had recovered from her faint, had expressed a desire to see me immediately, therefore she had come in search of me.
“Enter the harem,” she said. “Walk down the arcade on the right until thou comest unto the third door. Push it open, and therein wilt thou find our Daughter of the Sun.”
I briefly thanked her, and, rearranging her veil, she strolled leisurely away to avoid arousing suspicion. Within ten minutes I was speeding along the arcade, gloomy in the darkening hour, and rendered ghastly by the presence of the mutilated dead. My heart beat as if it would burst its bonds. At the third door I halted, and, pushing it open, passed through a kind of vestibule into a small thickly-carpeted apartment, hung with rich silken hangings, and fragrant with sweet odours that rose from a gold perfuming-pan.
From her soft, luxuriant divan, Zoraida, still in her masculine dress, rose to meet me. She was pale, and her hand trembled, as for a few moments we remained clasped in affectionate embrace, while I kissed her in rapture, with many affectionate declarations of love.
“What must I do?” I asked breathless, at last. “How can I save thee?”
“By performing the mission thou hast promised,” she answered, the pressure of her hand tightening upon mine as she gazed into my eyes.
“That I will do most willingly,” I said.
“Then lo! here is the Crescent of Glorious Wonders,” she said, producing that mysterious object from between the cushions of her divan, “and here also is a letter to Mohammed ben Ishak. Deliver it, and learn the Secret. Then canst thou extricate me from the danger that threateneth.”
“But must I be absent from thee long?”
“I know not. Thy mission may perchance occupy thee many days.”
“And in the meantime thou mayest be forced to become the wife of that brute, Hadj Absalam!”
“Never!” she cried, setting her teeth. “I will kill myself!”
“Is it imperative that I should be absent from thy side in this the hour of thy peril?” I asked, placing my arm tenderly around her neck and drawing her closer towards me.
A flash of love-light gleamed on her sweet face.
“Yes. Seek the imam to-night, ere it be too late. Whatever he telleth thee, investigate at all cost. If thou art successful in obtaining a revelation of the Wondrous Mystery, assuredly thou wilt save me from a fate that I fear worse than the grave.”
“Trust me, O Zoraida!” I answered, kissing her fervently, as I took the Crescent and the scrap of paper, concealing them in my clothing. “On leaving thee, I will not halt until I have found the holy man, and have gained from him that knowledge which he alone can give. But what of thee? While I am absent, thou wilt be friendless!”
“Allah, the One Merciful, all things discerneth; to us shall it be as He willeth,” she said, slowly raising my hand and pressing my fingers to her lips.
“If thou art, alas! forced to become Queen of this kingdom of murderers! If thou art – ”
“I am a follower of the Faith, and place my trust in the Uniter of the Lover and Beloved,” she interrupted softly, clasping me in her clinging arms. “By woman’s wit I may perchance escape the hateful doom that Hadj Absalam hath devised, under the advice of our enemy, Labakan; therefore let the burdens of my peril be uplifted from thine heart. Seek the director of those who tread the Path, and attend with faith and minuteness unto his instructions.”
“The thought that we may be for ever parted must fill me until my return,” I said. “But canst thou not fly with me, even now?”
“Alas! no,” she answered gloomily. “Escape ere thou hast fathomed the Great Mystery is impossible. I must abide in patience, overshadowed by deadly peril and the dread thought that we may never meet again. But” – and she hesitated – “tell me – answer me with thine own lips one question I would address unto thee.”
“What wouldst thou know?”
“Tell me,” she said, burying her head upon my breast – “Tell me if thou wilt forgive me for – for the awful massacre that hath to-day been committed?”
“Forgive thee!” I cried, my kisses warming her waxen hands. “Of course I do. Forced to occupy a strange position, thou canst not struggle against thy fate, therefore the horrible butchery is due to neither plot nor strategy of thine, but to the fierce avarice and brutal bloodthirstiness of those who now prove themselves thine enemies.”
“Ah! verily thou art generous!” she exclaimed, with tears in her luminous eyes, around which dark rings were showing. “The life of cities, as the life of men, is a vain and uncertain thing, and none knoweth the weal or ill thereof, and none knoweth the end or the way of the end, save only Allah. To thee I entrust my life. Go! seek the key to the Great Mystery, the knife by which my bonds can only be severed. I will fight to preserve mine honour until I die. I am thine until the heavens shall be cloven in sunder, and the stars shall be scattered. May Allah shadow thee in His shadow, and give unto thee strength to perform in faithfulness thy covenant! May He bless and preserve thee, and may He cause thee to drink from the cup of His Prophet, Mohammed, that pleasant draught, after which there is no thirst to all eternity! It is time, O Cecil! Go!”
“Farewell, my one beloved,” I said, with a lingering kiss, as her fair head still rested upon my breast. “May the One who sweepeth away darkness guard thee and disappoint not thine hopes! Verily will I set out upon this mission at once, for as steadfastly true thou art unto me, so am I unto thee.”
For a long time, as we stood in silence, I rained passionate kisses upon her lips, cold as marble. She trembled, fearing the worst, yet, gathering her strength in a supreme effort to preserve her self-control, she at last pushed me from her with gentle firmness, saying —
“Hasten! Night draweth quickly on, and thou hast but little time to spare. Hourly shall I think of thee until thou returnest with the glad tidings. Slama! Allah knoweth the innermost parts of the breasts of men. May His mercy and His bounteous blessing be upon thee!”
“Verily He is Praised and Mighty!” I responded. Then, with a long kiss of farewell, I breathed a few whispered words of passion into her ear, and, promising to return at the earliest moment, I released her supple form from my embrace, and, stumbling blindly out, left her standing, pale, friendless, and alone.
Devoutly-murmured words of a fervent prayer fell upon my ears as I turned from her presence, but I halted not, striding onward – onward in search of the knowledge and elucidation of the Great Mystery, onward to an unknown, undreamed-of bourne.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Mohammed Ben Ishak
That night, while the ferocious horde, half demented by delight, still continued their fell work of massacre and pillage, I slipped through the small arched gate into the courtyard of the Great Mosque.
Outside, in the roadway, corpses thickly strewn showed how desperate had been the conflict. Bodies of men were lying about the streets in hundreds, perhaps thousands, for I could not count – some with not a limb unsevered, some with heads hacked and cross-cut and split lengthwise, some ripped up, not by chance, but with careful precision down and across, disembowelled and dismembered. Indeed, groups of prisoners, tied together with their hands behind their backs, had been riddled with bullets and then hewn in pieces. The sight was awful; but why repeat it in all its painful detail?
The Ennitra had, however, faithfully obeyed Zoraida’s injunctions, and the sacred building remained deserted and untouched, although a guard was stationed at the gate to prevent any fugitive from seeking shelter there. In the lurid glare cast by the burning houses to which the firebrand had been applied, I saw how spacious was the open court. A great fountain of black marble, with ancient tiles of white and blue, plashed in the centre, inviting the Faithful to their Wodû; a vine, centuries old, spread its great branches overhead in a leafy canopy, shading worshippers from the sun’s scorching rays; while the stones, cracked and broken, the exquisitely dented horse-shoe arches, the battered walls of marble and onyx, all spoke mutely of the many generations who had performed their pious prostrations there. Like sentinels, fig and orange trees stood black against the fire-illumined sky, and as I halted for a moment, the tumult beyond the sacred precincts grew louder, as those whom I had been compelled to call “friends” spread destruction everywhere.
The white façade of the majestic structure presented a most picturesque aspect, with its long arcade of many arches supported by magnificent pillars of marble, while above rose a handsome cupola, surmounted by its golden crescent and its high square minaret, bright with glazed tiles, whence the mueddin had for centuries charted his call to prayer.
Kicking off my shoes at the great portal of porphyry, I was about to enter, when my eyes fell upon a stone above, whereon an Arabic inscription had been carved. Translated, it read as follows —
“The virtues of this sanctuary spread themselves abroad
Like the light of the morning, or the brilliancy of the stars.
O ye who are afflicted with great evils, he who will cure them for you
Is the son of science and profound nobility, ABDERRAHMAN.
745 of Hedjira.” (A.D. 1353.)
On entering, all seemed dark and desolate. At the far end of the spacious place a single lamp burned with dull, red glow, and as with bare feet I moved noiselessly over the priceless carpets, my eyes grew accustomed to the semi-obscurity, and I saw how magnificent was the architecture of the lofty interior. Three rows of horse-shoe arches, supported by curiously-hewn columns, divided it into three large halls, the roofs of which were of fine cedar, with wonderful designs and paintings still remaining. From the arches hung ostrich eggs in fringed nets of silk, the walls were covered with inscriptions and arabesques in wood and plaster, while marbles of divers colours formed a dado round the sanctuary, and the glare of fire outside sent bars of ruddy light, through the small kamarîyas, or windows, placed high up and ornamented with little pieces of coloured glass. Lamps of enamelled glass, of jasper, of wrought silver and beaten gold hung everywhere, and the niche, or mirhâb, indicating the direction of Mecca, before which a solitary worshipper had prostrated himself, was adorned with beautiful mosaics of marble, porphyry, and mother-of-pearl, with sculptured miniature arcades in high relief, framed with a border of good words from the Korân.
Astonished at the vast extent and imposing character of the building, I halted behind the mimbar, or pulpit of the imam, and, gazing round upon the dimly-lit but magnificent interior, awaited in silence the termination of the single worshipper’s prayer. At last, as he rose, slowly lifting his hands aloft in final supplication, I saw he was one of the hezzabin. As he turned, I advanced, addressing him, saying —
“May the peace of Allah, who taught the pen, rest upon thee, O Header of the Everlasting Will!”
“And upon thee peace amid the tumult!” he answered.
“I seek the Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, director of the Faithful,” I said. “Canst thou direct me unto him?”
But even as I spoke, the reader of the Korân had detected by my dress that I was one of the hated devastating band, and poured upon me a torrent of reproach and abuse for daring to defile the mosque by my presence. Assuring him that I had the best intentions, and showing him the scrap of paper Zoraida had given me, whereon the imam’s name was inscribed, I at length appeased him.
“If thou desirest to convey unto the Hadj Mohammed the written message, I will take it,” he said reluctantly, at length convinced by the strenuous manner in which I urged the importance of my business with the head of the Mesállaje.
“I am charged to deliver it only into the hands of the imam himself,” I answered. “Wilt thou not lead me unto him, when I tell thee that the matter concerns the life of one who is his friend?”
Still he hesitated; but further appeal moved him, and, ordering me to remain, he reluctantly passed through a small panelled door, inlaid with ivory and ebony, that led from the lîwân, or eastern recess, leaving me alone. Nearly ten anxious minutes went by ere he returned; then, without utterance, he motioned me to follow him. This I did with alacrity, passing through the door, so constructed as to be indistinguishable from the other panels which formed the dado in that portion of the sanctuary, and as it closed behind us noiselessly, I found myself in total darkness. There was a smell of mustiness and decay; but I was prepared for any adventure, for was I not seeking to obtain knowledge of a mysterious and extraordinary secret?
“Let me guide thy footsteps,” muttered my companion, and, taking me by the arm, he led me along a narrow passage apparently running parallel with the sanctuary, and constructed in the width of its massive walls. Stumbling along for some distance, we at last turned sharply, where in a small niche there stood a lighted hand-lamp, so placed that its rays remained concealed. Taking it up, he held it before him, and by its yellow, uncertain glimmer we descended a long zig-zag flight of steep, broken steps, deep down into the earth. At the bottom he suddenly drew aside a heavy curtain that hung behind a low arch, and I found myself in a small subterranean chamber, dimly-lit by a brass hanging lamp.
“Lo! the stranger entereth thy presence!” my guide exclaimed, withdrawing almost before my eyes could take in the details of my strange surroundings.
“Mìn aine jûyi!” exclaimed a thin, weak voice, and I saw enshrined upon a divan on the opposite side of the apartment a venerable old man of stately presence, his long white beard and portly figure adding materially to the dignity of his bearing.
Returning his greeting, I advanced, noting his thin face, parchment-like skin, and his wasted fingers grasping the black rosary that showed he had made the pilgrimage.
“Know, O Director of those who follow the Right Way, that I bear unto thee a message from Zoraida, who is called the Daughter of the Sun!”
“A message – at last!” he cried, removing his pipe in sudden surprise, as, struggling to his feet, he strode to the door, drew back the curtain, and looked up the stairs, to make certain that the reader of the Korân had actually departed. Quickly returning, with his wizened face full of agitation and his piercing coal-black eyes fixed upon me, he requested me to hand him the letter.
Breaking the seal, he opened the crumpled but precious piece of paper and eagerly devoured the lines of Arabic. As he held it beneath the lamp, I caught a furtive glimpse of it. The scrawled lines had apparently been hastily penned, and beneath there was a dark oval blotch. Straining my eyes, I could just distinguish that it was the impression of a thumb that had been dipped in blood – a seal that could not be imitated!
Without a word, the aged man crossed to an ancient cabinet, inlaid with ivory and silver forming texts from the Korân, and therefrom took a parchment. With trembling hands he unrolled it, and, bringing it to the light, compared it minutely with Zoraida’s letter. Upon the parchment was a similar impression, which apparently corresponded to his satisfaction with that on the paper I had brought.
“So thou art the Roumi from beyond the sea upon whom our Lady of Beauty hath gazed with favour?” he exclaimed, turning and surveying me critically after he had carefully put away both documents.
“I am, O Father,” I answered. “For many moons have I travelled to seek thee, but have been thwarted in all my efforts until this moment. I am bearer of a precious object, the secret of which thou alone knowest;” and from beneath my gandoura I drew forth the Crescent of Glorious Wonders.
“Verily hast thou acted with faith and fearlessness,” he said, taking the piece of metal in his talon-like fingers and seeking the mystic inscription. “Undaunted, thou hast faced many perils in order to fulfil thine oath. Already the report of thy sufferings and thine hardships, and the attempts made upon thy life, hath been conveyed unto me. While thou wert a slave in the Fáda, I knew of thy bondage, and tried to reach and release thee, but without avail. To me the circumstances of the loss and extraordinary recovery of this strangely-shaped phylactery entrusted to thy keeping are no new thing, for while upon thy wanderings thou hast been watched by eyes unseen.”
“Didst thou know that I was endeavouring to reach thee?” I asked, amazed. “How didst thou obtain thy knowledge?”
“The Wearer of the Flower knoweth all things he desireth,” the aged imam answered simply. But his words were full of meaning, for they implied that I had been watched by secret emissaries of the Senousya. Members of this secret brotherhood of Al-Islâm are initiated by the taking of a flower, of which there are fifteen, each being significant of a certain sect.
When two Believers meet as strangers, one will say to the other, “What blossom wearest thou?” a question which is the “Who goes there?” of the affiliation. If the individual to whom the question is addressed has not been initiated into the Senousya, he will reply, “I am no Wearer of the Flower. I am simply the humble servant of Allah.”
“The Wearers of the Flower are all-powerful,” I said.
“Thou speakest the truth,” he answered; piously adding: “Of a surety will the Prophet send his liberator, who will drive the Infidel invaders into the sea. Then will True Believers rise in their millions, and the land of Al-Islâm will be delivered out of the hands of the oppressor. As the locusts devour all green things, so shall the Senousya smite and destroy the Infidels with a strength as irresistible as the falchion of Fate.”
“I am one of thine oppressors,” I hazarded, smiling.
“No. Thou, although a Roumi, art a respecter of our laws and a friend of our people. At what is written thou hast never scoffed, but hast sought to deliver the fairest woman of Al-Islâm from dangers that have beset her feet.”
“Wherein lie those dangers?” I asked anxiously. “In vain have I tried to obtain explanation.”
“Unto thee the truth will be revealed in due course. From her own lips wilt thou obtain knowledge,” he replied impressively. “Thou lovest her. Some day thou wilt tread the Right Path and believe in Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds. Then shalt thou marry her.”
“She hath sent me unto thee because, in Algiers, the Secret of the Crescent was denied me,” I said.
“Of that I am aware,” he exclaimed. “Already hast thou sought the Unknown and witnessed some of our marvels; but there are others more wondrous that must convince thee. Faith shutteth the seventy doors of evil, and giveth passage over Al-Sirât, the bridge, sharp as a sword and finer than a hair, that stretcheth between hell and Paradise.”
“I have faith,” I said fervently, remembering the weird things Zoraida had shown me. “Thou knowest the Great Secret, and if thou art so inclined, canst impart unto me knowledge whereby I may rescue the woman I love.”
The holy man asked me what peril appeared to surround Zoraida, and in reply I briefly described the scene that had been enacted in the Fáda that day, and told him of Hadj Absalam’s declaration of his intention to make her his wife. My words aroused within him the fiercest anger, and as he paced the apartment with feverish steps, he uttered terrible threats against the Sheikh of the despoilers.
“Twice would the Sultan of the Sahara have taken my life, had not Zoraida saved me,” I pointed out.
“Allah showeth mercy only to the merciful,” he observed, halting suddenly before me. “Cast thine eyes about thee here in Agadez, and gaze upon the frightful ruin wrought to-day by those hell-hounds. Verily are they the sons of Eblis, who walk in the darkness, and to whom all blessings are denied. May their vitals be burned with the fire unquenchable, and may their thirst be slaked with molten metal. Abuser of the salt, and unfaithful Wearer of the Flower, Hadj Absalam seeketh now to crown his many villainies by forcing the Lalla Zoraida, who is pure as the jasmine blossom, to become his wife! Hâsha! We shall see! We shall see!”
“She telleth me that I can save her if I discover the Great Secret,” I said, with anxious impatience.
“Thou hast not been initiated into the Senousya, neither art thou a True Believer; nevertheless, thou hast kept thy word even at risk of thine own life,” he exclaimed, reflectively twisting his rosary between his thin, nervous fingers. The thought of Zoraida’s peril seemed to have completely unnerved him.
“Hither have I journeyed from Algiers on purpose to seek explanation of thee,” I urged. “Think! the liberty, nay, the life, of one who is as innocent as she is fair is at stake. If thou refusest, I can do nothing. She will become the wife of a man whose fiendish brutality is a by-word and a reproach to the Moslem world. Is it surprising that she hath decided to take her life rather than fall into his polluted hands? Consider, O Reciter of the Prayers – thou who teachest goodwill towards men – reveal unto me, I beseech thee, that which is hidden and the elucidation of which can alone secure the safety of my betrothed.”
“But thou art not a True Believer,” he protested, shaking his head gravely. “How dare I invoke the Wrath by revealing unto thee the Great Secret, with which I alone of men have been entrusted?”
“Wilt thou not – for Zoraida’s sake?” I urged again, growing alarmed at his increasing inclination to preserve the mystery.
“Within this steel there lieth hidden a secret which none know,” he said, again examining the Crescent carefully. “Through ages hath it been passed from hand to hand, experiencing many vicissitudes, stranger even than the tales of the story-tellers, or the romances of the Thousand and One Nights, yet its true power hath remained hidden from its various owners, and its secret influence is to all undreamed of.”
“How can its power avert Zoraida’s peril and give unto her peace?” I inquired anxiously.
“I know not. Peradventure there are minor secrets connected with it of which even I am in ignorance. Yet assuredly must a man believe that there is no God but Allah ere he can rest beneath the tree called Tûba (the tree of happiness), or dwell within the Jannat al Naïm.” (The garden of pleasure.)
“Though an Infidel, I respect thy belief profoundly,” I said, endeavouring to break down the barrier of his fanatical prejudice. “That I have never reproached a True Believer, impugned his devoutness, or ridiculed that which thou boldest sacred, thou hast already acknowledged. Indeed, I follow many of thy beliefs, and acknowledge the truth of the declaration of thy Khalîf Omar ebn Abd’alaziz, that prayer carrieth us half-way to Allah, fasting bringeth us to the door of His palace, and alms procureth us admission. But not as one who respecteth and honoureth thy people of Al-Islâm seek I the elucidation of the Great Mystery; it is in order that the life of the Lalla Zoraida may be spared, and that she and I may at last become united in wedlock.”
The patriarchal head of the old imam was bent as he mumbled over his rosary. The words I uttered were intensely in earnest, for Zoraida’s final appeal still rang in my ears, and I knew that I had but one short month in which to rescue her from the clutches of the inhuman brute who would snatch her from me for ever.
“Believe,” he urged at last. “Turn not to folly, but learn thou the truth, and live in piety; for verily I tell thee that the Holy War is near at hand. Then all of us, – with the exception of the Ennitra, who are the thrice-cursed sons of Eblis, – laying aside all fear and dread, will, guided by the Giver of Strength, strive with one accord against the enemies of the Faith; for Allah the Comforter knoweth that if any man die, he dieth for the truth of the Faith, for the salvation of his land, for the protection of the tombs and holy cities, and the defence of the Belief. Therefore shall he obtain of Him the bounteous reward in the Jannat al Ferdaws, peopled by the beautiful Hûr al oyûn, that He alone can give.”
“I believe in the marvels I have already witnessed,” I answered. “I am convinced that thou canst reveal unto me means by which I can release the woman I love from the harem of villainy, ere it be too late. Has she not in her letter requested thee to afford me explanation, in order that I may gain the knowledge for our mutual advantage?”
He hesitated. With his dark, gleaming eyes fixed steadfastly upon me, he remained motionless in deep reflection.
“Darest thou leave this City of the Doomed to go forth in search of what may appear unto thee but the merest phantom?” he asked slowly.
“Zoraida is in deadliest peril,” I urged. “Would my absence be of long duration?”
“I cannot answer. Thou art young and reckless. With a stout heart thou mightest obtain knowledge of the truth within short space.”
“But within one moon, Zoraida – with whom no woman of Al-Islâm can compare – will be imprisoned in the harem of the conqueror, and she will be irretrievably lost to me!” I urged.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Art thou still undaunted?” he asked. “Art thou still prepared to continue thine efforts to effect her rescue?”
“I am, O Father,” I answered fervently. “Tell me, I beseech thee, how to act.”
“The medium through which thou canst alone seek to elucidate the Great Mystery hath been hidden from man through many ages,” he said in a strange, croaking voice, handling the Crescent of Glorious Wonders as tenderly as if it were a child. “This ancient talisman, which bringeth good fortune and victory to its possessor, containeth a property which is unknown to the wise men of our generation, though when Cleopatra reigned in Egypt the hidden force was well known and freely utilised. To the True Believer this Crescent giveth valour and power over his enemies, besides averting the evil eye, like the hand of Fathma; but profaned by the touch of the Roumi, it assuredly bringeth ruin, disaster, and death. Over our Lalla Zoraida there hangeth a fate that is worse than death, yet that can be averted, provided thou canst fathom that which the wise of successive ages have attempted and failed. She now chargeth me to impart to thee the key of the Wondrous Marvel, the Secret entrusted unto me alone. Verily I declare unto thee, only the deadly peril of the fair woman thou lovest causeth me to unloose my tongue’s strings – only the imminent likelihood of her abandonment to that fiend in man’s shape induceth me to withdraw the veil.”
