'Truly,' said Zehowah, 'that is what you will make of your life. For there is a garden called Irem, planted in a secret place of the deserts about Aden, by Sheddad the son of Ad, who desired to outdo the gardens of paradise, and was destroyed for his impiety with all his people, by the hand of Allah. But a certain man named Abdullah ibn Kelabah was searching in the desert for a lost camel, and came unawares upon this place. There were fruits and water there and all that a man could wish for, and Abdullah dwelt in peace and plenty, praising Allah. Then on a certain day he desired to eat an onion, and finding none anywhere, he went out, intending to obtain one, and having eaten it, to return immediately. But though he searched the desert many months he was never able to find the garden again. Wherefore it is said that Abdullah ibn Kelabah lost the earthly paradise of Irem for a mouthful of onion.' 'How can you understand me if you do not love me?' asked Khaled. 'Love has its own language, and when two love they understand each the other's words. But when the one loves and the other loves not, they are strangers, though they be man and wife; or they are like Persians and Arabians not understanding either the other's speech, or that if the wife cries "father," her husband will bring her a cup of water supposing her to be thirsty. For those who would speak one language must be of one heart, and they who would be of one heart must love each other.' Then Zehowah sighed and leaned against the cushions by the wall and drew her hand away from Khaled. 'What is it?' she asked in a low voice. 'What is it you would have?' But though she had already asked the question many times she found no answer, and none that he was able to give could enlighten her darkness. 'It is the spark that kindles the flame,' Khaled said, and he pointed to the lights that hung in the room. 'Your beauty is like that of a cunningly designed lamp, inlaid with gold and silver and covered with rich ornament, which is seen by day. But there is no light within, and it is cold, though it be full of oil and the wick be ready.' Zehowah turned towards him somewhat impatiently. 'And you are as one who would kindle the flame with words, having no torch,' she answered. 'Have I not done deeds also?' asked Khaled. 'Or have I spoken much, that you should reproach me? Surely I have slain more of your enemies than I have spoken words to you to-night.' 'But have I asked for an offering of blood, or a marriage dower of dead bodies?' Khaled was silent, for he was bitterly disappointed, and as his eyes fell upon the sword which hung on the wall, he felt that he could almost have taken it and made an end of Zehowah for very anger that she would not love him. Had he not gone out for her into the raging heat of summer, and borne the burden of a great war, and destroyed a nation and taken a city? Moreover, if neither words nor deeds could gain her love, what means remained to him to try?