JUSEF AND ASENATH
her senses. Relinquishing all hold on earthly life, she threw up her arms and sank back upon the couch, where she lay like a beautiful soul fallen dead at the very gates of Paradise.
On the slanting rays of dawn the angel took his way eastwards. Then up rose the sun of the eighth day since Jusef's departure. A cavalcade approached the gates of the palace.
'Ho, within!'
The gates open and there is rushing to and fro. A man, as lordly as the sun, a white flower with a heart of gold in his girdle, rides in, followed by a retinue found only in the wake of kings. It is Jusef. Maddened by a dream, he looks up at the window of the palace tower, but the beautiful face that has showed before shows there no more. Love speeds his footsteps. He has right to command. Where—where is she?
Asenath upon her couch wakes from oblivion at a touch. Who is this standing over her? The angel, yea, the angel, for there is her flower still in his girdle. But how?—and why?—it seems not right; his lips pressed close to hers, his arms around her in a wild embrace——
'Asenath! my bride!'
Printed in Great Britain
By T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty, Edinburgh
