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;