Then she sate down and waited; there was nothing else to be done. She dare not use the King"s signet--if indeed this token of mere personal safety to herself would be of any avail--since that might lead to his discovery of the diamond"s theft. And that (this had grown to an immutable creed) must never be!
"Light not so many lights," she said to the servants who came in with long garlands of flowers and coloured lights; but they went on with their work. It was by the Lord Chamberlain"s orders they said. And they brought her new jewels, and scattered rose-oil-water about the cushions, and spread a low stool-table with fruit, and goblets, and wine flagons.
She sate and watched them, interested as she would not have been but for the awakening of her womanhood under the King"s touch. Now she understood; now for the first time she realised the philosophy of Siyah Yamin.
So Ibrahim, coming in early--she smiled mysteriously at his haste--found her watching the slave-women who were reaching up to place coloured lights amongst the roses twined round the cupola, and as they worked they sang in a quaint roundel:
Shine earthen lamps, outblaze the stars So cold, so white, so far.
Shine little lamp, hide Heaven"s light Love comes to Love to-night.
"Bid them remove them, my lord," she said eagerly. "Lo! they are garish. Are not mine eyes and the stars sufficient for--for lovers?"
She hung her head and looked at him. Her cheeks showed a crimson flush beneath the corn-coloured skin, her eyes blazed, indeed, like many stars.
He gave the order instantly, and as it was being executed walked to the parapet whence he could feast his eye upon the picture she made as she sate in the cupola, the rose garlands bending to touch her, the light of the seven-lamped cresset on the step below her shining full on her face, and glinting behind her on cold steel of sword and hauberk. Aye! she was right. The coloured lights were garish; she was colourful enough herself; she needed no advent.i.tious aids to pa.s.sion; that hint of cold steel was enough! His blood rose to fever heat.
"Quick slaves! quick!" he cried. "Are we to be kept waiting all night."
Her laugh rang out provocatively. "My lord is before his time. It is not yet eleven! Drink to our love, Mirza--or stay! Let us drink to the truth between us!" She filled two goblets of the good red wine and pa.s.sed him one. "So! to the truth between us," she cried; then, as she drained the gla.s.s flung it far into the darkness of the night. It showed curving comet-like, then sank, a distant tinkle telling where it had smashed to atoms. "Thine also! Thine also! Ibrahim!" she cried.
"To the Truth between us!"
He muttered something unheard, flung his gla.s.s away, then essaying a laugh caught up a lute and began to sing in high airy trills:
Lo! the green-hued sea of heaven And the crescent moon its ship Bear me, dearest, to the haven Where Love"s Anchor I may dip In the harbour of thy bosom.
Find in shelter of thy lip Kisses seven! Kisses seven Oh! what nectar--One more sip Surely thou wilt be forgiven Even angels sometimes trip.
As he stood there dressed in white from head to foot, becurled, bescented, bedandyfied, atma thought of the man who had stood there before, and something purely savage crept into her smile.
"Lo! thou singest well" she said. "So do I, give me the lute?"
The servants had gone. He crossed to her, pa.s.sion in his eyes. "I came not here for lutes." he cried almost brutally, "I came for love!"
She motioned him back with her hand. "It is not yet--eleven! And I will sing--of--of--love."
He drew a long breath. She was surpa.s.sing beautiful with that enticing smile. Why should he be greedy of his pleasure?
Love of my heart, bring blushes to my face, Seek not at wisdom"s hand, excuse or grace.
Speed thou my blood in pa.s.sion"s tireless race Till lip meet lip, and arm with arm embrace For the love of the heart has no end----
"atma! I love thee!"
His quick cry sank before her steady voice:
But the grave But the cold, cold grave But the grave!
He gave a slight shiver and drew back; then threw himself beside her.
"Come!" he said, "there is life before the grave!"
She shook her head playfully. Not even Siyah Yamin with all her knowing wiles, could have played her part better.
"It is not yet--eleven" she answered and if her face showed haggard it was belied by her gay laugh. "Lo! keep to compact, Mirza Sahib. There is another verse; by then, it may be--eleven!"
She paused a second as if her keen ears had caught some faint sound, then she swept the strings with a resounding force that echoed and re-echoed through the roof, drowning all else.
Love of my soul, bring courage to my heart Seek not at pa.s.sion"s hand her lure and art.
Claim thou the whole of me and not the part Though Death meet Death and Life from Life depart For the love of the soul has no end in the grave.
In the cold, cold grave.
In the grave.
A crashing chord, dissonant, fierce, overbore all things, and out of it rose mellow the first chime of eleven.
She leant forward, her eyes full of allure, on his. "Out with the lamps, Love needs no light," she quoted rapidly.
"One!" Her curved red lips smiled, parted, and one of the cressets was gone. Its dying breath exhaled perfumes of musk.
Again the mellow note rang out.
"Two," she whispered and again a cresset flickered, went out.
"Three."
"Four." This time the Mirza seemed to be listening.
"It will be counting kisses by and by when light fails," she suggested gaily, pointing to the three remaining lamplets.
"Five--"
There were but two now. She was leaning closer to him, his arm had stolen round her waist.
"Six--"
Something made her glance hastily to the door, but the bounding blood in his pulses seemed for him to have invaded the whole world, and he heard nothing.
"_Seven!_--"
It was dark now, and from the darkness came the long-drawn sound of a kiss; then of another.
_Eight_--_Nine!_--The chiming hour went on.
His arms were round her. Aye, but hers were round him also. Arms like iron, lips like steel upon his mouth.