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Page 33
As the old woman got slowly to her feet, the man sprang up beside her.
"My son, though thou drainest a fortune from the mint of Love at dawn,
yet is it still there at eventide," she whispered as she raised her
jewelled hand to his shoulders and pulled him down towards her. "My
son, thou art my son, and I have faith in and a great love for thee and
thine."
And she kissed him upon the forehead, whilst the tears stood in her
eyes, and turned towards the house, without noticing a man and a woman
sitting in the shadows at the far side of the grounds.
For the woman who watched was Zulannah the harlot, who had gained an
easy admission under the secrecy of her veils and the potency of
backschish.
And as Ben Kelham had sat down, she had crept quietly from behind the
palms to stand, a shimmering bundle of silks and satins, in front of
the man who looked up in annoyance, and then smiled.
You really couldn't be rude to anything so tantalisingly beautiful,
especially when the lady of your choice has just shown a certain
lamentable want of appreciation in regard to your person and
propositions.
"It's one o'clock, fair lady; you must unmask."
And he uttered a cry of astonishment.
Zulannah had lifted her veil.
And the moments sped as she wove the golden web of beauty and desire
and love, into which, however, the clumsy fly refused to be enticed.
But Ben Kelham, for all his slowness, was no fool, and understanding
that the woman was offering him something outside her usual wares, and
understanding also the danger of rousing the wrath of such a woman, he
dealt with the matter as delicately as he could.
"--Come but once to my entertainments," she urged. "My girls shall
dance for thee, my animals fight for thee."
The man shuddered, sick to the soul at the thought of the means by
which this woman enslaved her suitors.
"Am I not beautiful?" she added.
She made her last bid; she stepped back into the moonlight and unwound
her veils from about her, standing, palpitating, trembling under the
possession of her strange love.
Beautiful! She was a dream--yet beside her beauty the pure loveliness
of Damaris Hethencourt would have shown like the work of an Old Master
beside a coarse copy.
But what will you?
Some like the snow-peaks and some the stretching plain; others the
turbulent ocean, and yet others the farmyard with its rural sights and
sounds. Thank goodness for it! Just imagine the lamentation
throughout the world if love, like the _couturi�re_ set fashions for
the seasons!
"Love dictates that women, this season, shall resemble the dazzling
peaks of the Himalayas."
And we looking as the majority of us _do_ look!
Not that we should really be downhearted about it. Not a bit. Only
let the decree go forth, and every one of us, at the end of a week or
so, would by hook or by crook have acquired a distinctly peak-like
appearance.
But Kelham looked up, looked long, and smiled.
"You _are_ beautiful--very beautiful--the most beautiful woman I have
seen--save one."
Zulannah recognised her defeat and in a whirl of rage and scented veils
disappeared through the _talik_ palms.
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