But Dilama was not yet Ahmed's wife; she loved him most truly and
deeply as an affectionate daughter. For who could not love Ahmed?
There was a charm in his stately beauty of face and figure, in the
kind musical voice, in the eyes so large and dark and gentle, that
was irresistible. But to Dilama he was something far above her: her
king, her lord indeed, for whom she would lay down life itself
without question, but not the man to whom her ardent simple nature
had turned for love. Ahmed had not sought her. When first she came
to his palace she had been too young except for him to treat as
a pretty child, and the relationship of father and daughter
then established had never yet been broken in upon. And the
light-hearted, sunny-natured Druze girl had taken life just as she
found it, regarding herself as Ahmed's daughter, and rejoicing in
her home of love and beauty she ceased to remember that one day he
would inevitably claim her as his wife, and that that day must be
the beginning or the end of happiness just as she prepared for it.
But she did not prepare for it, she ignored it: flitting like some
golden butterfly through the pleasant hours, and growing fairer
every day, so that the harem women looked at her with a little
sinking of the heart yet no ill-will, and said amongst themselves,
"Surely Ahmed must choose her soon.
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