I80 Ashes of Incense

be yours, my little moon”-—he was speaking low, low, against her ear—“forever more.”

“Forever more?” trembling, she half whispered it. “No, that is impossible. I did not tell you my greatest joke—-my last that is to be—I did not tell you ”

“And do not tell me. You have come, you are here. You are in an Eastern house, the woman of an Eastern man: there is no to-morrow. For an Eastern woman there is forever but to- day! And that day, oh, my little soul”——he had taken the veil from her face and was drawing her nearer to him; nearer and nearer into his arms— “that day is forever man’s! It is mine, rose of joy, it is mine!”

Looking up into the triumphant, fiercely beau- tiful face, Dorofée gave a little conquered moan. “It is yours,” she murmured, closing her eyes un- der his, “the day is yours.”

He bent to her swiftly; laid his lips upon hers, burning. She felt the hot sands of the desert, the rush of winds, the thunder and lightning of wild storms; and strangely, for an instant she saw Michael’s face, but it had melted into the fierce- ness of those passionate dark features above her. In the tumult of Barali’s embrace, she felt the grinning spirit that had ruled her slink by, beaten;