"Shall I speak
to you in the soft Arab tongue? Come to me, lovely Miska. Let me feel
how that sorrowful heart will leap like a captive gazelle."
But Miska shrank back from him, pale to the lips.
"Very well." His metallic voice sank to a hiss. "I employ no force.
You shall yield to me your heart as a love offering. Of such motives
as jealousy and revenge you know me incapable. What I do, I do with a
purpose. That compassion of yours shall be a lever to cast you into
my arms. Your hatred you shall conquer."
"Oh, have you no mercy? Is there _nothing_ human in your heart? Did I
say I hate you!"
"Your eyes are eloquent, Miska. I cherish two memories of those
beautiful eyes. One is of their fear and loathing--of _me;_ the other
is of their sweet softness when they watched the departure of my guest.
Listen! Do you hear nothing?"
In an attitude of alert and fearful attention Miska stood listening.
Fo-Hi watched her through the veil with those remorseless blazing eyes.
"I will open the door," he said smoothly, "that we may more fully
enjoy the protests of one for whom you 'care nothing'--of one whose
lips have pressed--your hand."
He opened the door by which Chunda Lal had gone out and turned again
to Miska. Her eyes looked unnaturally dark by contrast with the pallor
of her face.
Chunda Lal had betrayed her. She no longer doubted it. For he had not
dared to meet her glance. His fear of Fo-Hi had overcome his love for
her .
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239