There
will Mohammed speak words to you that his tongue has never uttered
before. There he will advise you how to save your father, and help
the men of Praousta."
She looked up to the crest of the rock, bathed in the soft
moonlight.
"You would lead me up there?" murmured she.
"I will lead you safely, or follow you, as the slave follows his
mistress. The way is steep, but your feet are active as those of the
gazelle. I now remember having sometimes observed your white figure
and your flying footstep. Lightly like the dove have I seen you flit
from rock to rock, and I have followed you with reverence. Yes, I
have long known you; I have often seen you, and I know that the
white dove need only spread her wings to flutter up to the Ear of
Bucephalus. O Masa, I entreat you, spread your wings and fly! There
I will speak with you of your father and of the future, of yours and
of mine. Will you grant my request?"
She did not reply, but only regarded him with an inquiring, doubtful
look.
Was it a mere accident, or had he purposely placed himself so that
the light of the now waning moon shone full in his face? Was it by
chance that he was so placed that a shadow was thrown over the place
where she stood, which enabled her to gaze at him from out the
darkness with her large, luminous eyes?
"I entreat you, Masa, go not down to your father's house, but ascend
with me to the Ear of Bucephalus.
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