dly gathered herself up at the slave's entry,
shrank away now into a corner of the room, white as death.

"Has he sent for me?" she asked breathlessly. "Commanded me? Oh,
must I go?"

The slave looked at her strangely. She had no suspicion of Dilama's
secret, and had no idea that her own misrepresentations were as
gross as they were. But she had no wish to be harsh or unkind to
this girl, who would be in a few hours queen of the harem. She was
puzzled. She drew near to Dilama's shrinking form, and peered into
her face.

"Yes, he _commands_," she said; "but is it possible you do not
wish to go to Ahmed? He is a king amongst men, and he loves you.
What better fate could there be than to lie on his breast, in his
arms? Is it not better than the ground to which you were crying
just now? Surely you will reward me well to-morrow?"

Dilama answered nothing. Long shivers were passing through her. It
was decided, then; she could no longer avoid her fate, and already
with that thought the Oriental calm of acceptance came to her.
Besides, where was Murad? She could not tell. Fate had taken him
from her, perhaps--the same Fate that gave her to Ahmed. She was
helpless. She had no choice but to obey. And the words of the
slave, accompanied by those piercing, meaning looks, inflamed her
senses. After that unbearable week of solitude the summons came to
her not all unwelcome, and the supreme thought of Ahmed himself
loomed up suddenly, bringing irresistible joy with it. A flame
passed over her cheeks; she caught the slave's skinny black hand
between her own rose-leaf palms.

"Yes, I will reward you," she murmured. "Dress me beautifully,
decorate me that I may find favour with Ahmed."

The slave laughed meaningly.

"Does the desert traveller burn and sigh after water, and then do
the springs of Damascus not find favour in his eyes?" she asked,
and laughed again as she approached Dilama, and began to undress
her. In a few minutes the whole of the haremlik was in a state of
pleasant excitement. The news of the dressing of the bride spread
into its furthest corners, and the women came to talk and jest, and
the servants fled hither and thither upon errands. Dilama was led
into the large general room, and there bathed from head to foot
with warm rose-water; while the others sat round and chatted
together, and admired her ivory skin, with the wild rose Syrian
bloom upon it, and her masses of gold-tinted chestnut hair. And the
black