jewels, and playthings. She had a room in which to
sleep but all day she sat in the room that was hung with heavy red
curtains through which the sun filtered in a rouged and somber glow.
Vermilion fabrics covered a long couch against the wall. Red carpets,
red tapestries, tawny vases of brass inlaid with niello; crimsons and
varying reds struck an insistent octave of color around her.

Mallare was absent during the days. She wondered where he went. He would
return in the evenings with gifts. This had continued for a month. Then
had begun a more curious existence.

One night Mallare had said to her:

"You must never talk to me any more but listen always to what I say. If
you remain here you will have everything you wish. But you must not go
outside. Do you understand?"

She closed her black eyes and nodded. He continued--

"I desire to make something out of you. If you stay here you will learn
what I want you to be."

Thereafter he had sat for days at a time in the room with her. Goliath
brought them food.

To Rita the smiling man who never ceased talking to her became like one
of the Djinns the old ones of the caravan used to tell stories about, in
the nights along the roads. The words he spoke became a languorous mist
in her ears. She listened and understood only that this man with the
black hair slanted across his forehead and the silent eyes, was talking
to her. This made her happy.

At night she slept alone dreaming of the sound of his voice. Her heart
became filled with awe. The strange room with its red colors was a
Temple such as she had heard about but never seen. Mallare was a God who
sat in its center and around whom grew a world of mysteries.

When she awoke her heart grew eager. Perhaps he would let her sit closer
to him this new day. Perhaps his hands would touch her hair. She dreamed
that some time he would play a guitar and sing to her as the men of the
caravan used to do. But if that happened she would not run away as
before. She would draw close to him and kiss his hands.

But the two months had passed without change. Except that the days
became for Rita only the sound of a voice in her heart and the image of
a face staring out of her secret thoughts.

She wore fine clothing. Rings crowded her fingers until her hands seemed
little effigies of themselves. Her black hair was looped over her ears.
A gold band was around it. She would have been happy if he had sat
closer to her while he talked