The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5727]
"Your eyes drive me mad!" he hissed. "Your lips taunt me, and I know all earthly greatness to be a mirage, its conquests visions, and its fairness dust. I would rather be a captive in your white arms than the emperor of heaven! Your sweetness intoxicates me, Miska. A fever burns me up!"
Helpless, enmeshed in the toils of that mighty will, Miska raised her head; and gradually her expression changed. Fear was smoothed away from her lovely face as by some magic brush. She grew placid; and finally she smiled--the luresome, caressing smile of the East. Nearer and nearer drew the green veil. Then, uttering a sudden fierce exclamation, Fo-Hi thrust her from him.
"That smile is not for _me,_ the man!" he cried gutterally. "Ah! I could curse the power that I coveted and set above all earthly joys! I who boasted that he could control his will--I read in your eyes that I am _willing_ you to love me! I seek a gift and can obtain but a tribute!"
Miska, with a sobbing moan, sank upon the _diwan._ Fo-Hi stood motionless, looking straight before him. His terrible calm was restored.
"It is the bitter truth," he said--"that to win the world I have bartered the birthright of men; the art of winning a woman's heart. There is much in our Chinese wisdom. I erred in breaking the whip. I erred in doubting my own prescience, which told me that the smiles I could not woo were given freely to another ... and perhaps the kisses. At least I can set these poor frail human doubts at rest."
He crossed and struck a gong which hung midway between the two doors.
CHAPTER IV
THE GUILE OF THE EAST
Her beautiful face a mask of anguish, Miska cowered upon the _diwan,_ watching the closed doors. Fo-Hi stood in the centre of the great room with his back to the entrance. Silently one of the lacquered panels slid open and Chunda Lal entered. He saluted the figure of the veiled Chinaman but never once glanced in the direction of the _diwan_ from which Miska wildly was watching him.
Without turning his head, Fo-Hi, who seemed to detect the presence of the silent Hindu by means of some fifth sense, pointed to a bundle of long rods stacked in a corner of the room.
His brown face expressionless as that of a bronze statue, Chunda Lal crossed and took the rods from their place.
_"Tum samajhte ho?"_ (Do you understand?) said Fo-Hi. Chunda Lal inclined his head.
_"Main tumhari bat manunga"_ (Your orders shall be obeyed), he replied.
"Ah, God! no!" whispered Miska--"what are you going to do?"
"Your Hindustani was ever poor, Miska," said Fo-Hi.
He turned to Chunda Lal.
"Until you hear the gong," he said in English.
Miska leapt to her feet, as Chunda Lal, never once glancing at her, went out bearing the rods, and closed the door behind him. Fo-Hi turned and confronted her.
_"Ta'ala hina_ (come hither), Miska!" he said softly. "Shall I speak to you in the soft Arab tongue? Come to me, lovely Miska. Let me feel how that sorrowful heart will leap like a captive gazelle."
But Miska shrank back from him, pale to the lips.
"Very well." His metallic voice sank to a hiss. "I employ no force. You shall yield to me your heart as a love offering. Of such motives as jealousy and revenge you know me incapable. What I do, I do with a purpose. That compassion of yours shall be a lever to cast you into my arms. Your hatred you shall conquer."
"Oh, have you no mercy? Is there _nothing_ human in your heart? Did I say I hate you!"
"Your eyes are eloquent, Miska. I cherish two memories of those beautiful eyes. One is of their fear and loathing--of _me;_ the other is of their sweet softness when they watched the departure of my guest. Listen! Do you hear nothing?"
In an attitude of alert and fearful attention