Thence they shed a
lurid ruddy glow upon the terrace. The slaves departed again, and
presently, in the black gap of the doorway between the Nubians, a third
figure appeared unheralded. It was Sakr-el-Bahr.
He stood a moment at gaze, his attitude haughty, his face
expressionless; then slowly he advanced. He was dressed in a short
white caftan that descended to his knees, and was caught about his waist
in a shimmering girdle of gold that quivered like fire in the glow of
the torches as he moved. His arms from the elbow and his legs from the
knee were bare, and his feet were shod with gold-embroidered red Turkish
slippers. He wore a white turban decked by a plume of osprey attached
by a jewelled clasp.
He signed to the Nubians and they vanished silently, leaving him alone
with his captives.
He bowed to Rosamund. "This, mistress," he said, "is to be your domain
henceforth which is to treat you more as wife than slave. For it is to
Muslim wives that the housetops in Barbary are allotted. I hope you
like it."
Lionel staring at him out of a white face, his conscience bidding him
fear the very worst, his imagination painting a thousand horrid fates
for him and turning him sick with dread, shrank back before his
half-brother, who scarce appeared to notice him just then.
But Rosamund confronted him, drawn to the full of her splendid height,
and if her face was pale, yet it was as composed and calm as his own; if
her bosom rose and fell to betray her agitations yet her glance was
contemptuous and defiant, her voice calm and steady, when she answered
him with the question--"What is your intent with me?"
"My intent?" said he, with a little twisted smile.
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