"Upon my soul," he said softly, "what an admission--what an
admission! I can not have made such a night of it in years."
Upon which Jarvo dropped unhesitatingly to his knees.
"Melek! Melek!" he cried, prostrating himself again and again. "The
King! The King! The gods have permitted the possible."
CHAPTER XVIII
A MORNING VISIT
In an upper room in the Palace of the Litany, fair with all the
burnished devices of the early light, Prince Tabnit paced on that
morning of mornings of his marriage day. Because of his great
happiness the whole world seemed to him like some exquisite intaglio
of which this day was the design.
The room, "walled with soft splendours of Damascus tiles," was laid
with skins of forgotten animals and was hung with historic
tapestries dyed by ancient fingers in the spiral veins of the Murex.
There were frescoes uniting the dream with its actuality, columns
carved with both lines and names of beauty, pilasters decorated with
chain and checker-work and golden nets.
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