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’TWAS midnight. Schirene reposed in the arms of Alroy. The Caliph, who was restless and anxious for the arrival of Scherirah, was scarcely slumbering, when the sound of a voice thoroughly aroused him. He looked around; be beheld the spectre of Jabaster. His hair stood on end, his limbs seemed to loosen, a cold dew crept over his frame, as he gazed upon the awful form within a yard of his couch. Unconsciously he disembarrassed his arms of their fair burden, and, rising on the couch, leant forward. |
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‘ALROY, ALROY, ALROY!’ |
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‘I am here.’ |
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‘TO-MORROW ISRAEL IS AVENGED!’ |
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‘Who is that?’ exclaimed the Princess, wakening. |
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In a frenzy of fear, Alroy, quite forgetting the spectre, turned and pressed his hand over her eyes. When he again looked round, the apparition was invisible. |
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‘What wouldst thou, Alroy?’ |
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‘Nothing, sweet! A soldier’s wife must bear strange sights, yet
I would save you some. One of my men, forgetful you were here, burst
into my tent in such a guise as scarce would suit a female eye.
I must away, my child. I’ll call thy slaves. One kiss! Farewell!
but for a time.’ |
