all, is but a whim of the fancy, as one man loves sour drink and another sweet?'
'Do you think that love is nothing but a whim of the fancy?' asked Khaled bitterly.
'What else can it be? Would you love me if you were blind?'
'Yes.'
'And if you were deaf?'
'Yes.'
'And if you could not touch my face with your hands, nor kiss me with your lips?'
'Yes.'
Zehowah laughed.
'Then love is indeed a fancy. For if you could not see me, nor touch me, nor hear me, what would remain to you but an empty thought?'
'Have I seen you, or touched you, or heard your voice for these two months and a half?' asked Khaled. 'Yet I have loved you as much during all that time.'
'You mean that you have thought of me, as I have thought of you, by the memory of what was not fancy, but reality. Would you dispute with me, Khaled? You will find me subtle.'
'There is more wit in my arm than in my head,' Khaled answered, 'and it is not easy for a man to persuade a woman.'
'It is very easy, provided that the man have reason
