im in my heart's core_. . . ."

SHAKESPEARE.

In his blindness and obstinacy and hurt Ben Kelham carried out his
intention and went after lion, the report of which, for all he knew,
might have been the outcome of some _fellah's_ vision of a tame pussy
mixed up with the nocturnal habits of the lion-headed goddess Sekhet,
who, so tradition avers, prowls about ruins by the light o' the moon,
seeking whom she may devour.

The moon plays havoc with the strongest-minded, out yonder!

Anyway, love-sick, he left Heliopolis, placing the panacea of sport
like a poultice upon his hurt.

Shortly after, one day during the noon hours, in the cool shadows of
his great palace in Cairo, there came to Hugh Carden Ali an
overpowering desire to see the girl he loved amongst her own people.

She was his at dawn in the desert, although miles of sand stretched
between them; his in the rush of the wind, the glory of the sky and the
thunder of the horses' hoofs; but to whom did she turn at night; in the
maze of the dance; the hothouse atmosphere of the hotel; the crush of
the winter visitors?

So, giving a twist to the dagger of love in his heart, he tucked the
dogs of Billi in beside him and drove as the sun set to Heliopolis,
and, guessing that the duchess would have a table near the window,
chose one on the opposite side of the dining-room, so that his presence
should not be thrust upon the girl or the old woman who had known his
mother.

He sat there, indifferent to or oblivious of the interest his presence
aroused, unconsciously counting the vertebrae of the lady at the next
table, who had evidently forgotten some essential part of her bodice.

He counted the vertebrae in the back of the lady who was dying to turn
round, until the duchess and Damaris entered the room; then he clenched
his hands under the table with an involuntary shudder of disgust.

It was the first time he had seen the girl he loved in evening dress,
and every instinct of the Oriental in him was outraged at the sight of
the gleaming neck and shoulders and hint of lace-shrouded virgin form.

She was not in full _decolletage_ by any means, but the waiter's sleeve
was but an inch from her satin skin when he bent over her, so that,
although he had long grown accustomed in Europe to the undraping of
woman o' nights, yet, because he loved the beautiful girl, he longed
for the right to walk across the room, pick her up in his arms, and,
smothering her i