CHAPTER III
"And the wild geese of Tartary flying over the river dunes . . ." the voice quivered, light as thistledown.
It was the voice of Fount-in-the-Forest who had been captured in battle seven years ago beneath the steel-shod tusks of the war elephants when the Caliph of Bagdad had gone into the East to fight the growing menace of the Khan of the Middle Horde. Daughter of a Mongol Prince, Fount-in-the-Forest had never forgotten the steppes and snow-clad mountains of her far country; had always hated this Western land of Islam with a smoldering, undying passion. She was attached to the personal service of the Princess Zobeid; and it was her duty, each night, to play and sing until her mistress fell asleep.
So tonight.
Her voice quivered on:
"In the pagoda of exquisite purity.
My thoughts roam—
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