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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Did you ever hear that line of poetry which speaks of 'A woman wailing for her demon-lover'? That is what Zara does. Of one thing I am certain she does not wail or wait long; he comes quickly." "What do you mean?" I exclaimed, utterly mystified. "Who comes quickly? I am sure you do not know what you are talking about." "I DO know," he replied firmly; "and I am going to prove my knowledge.
Here we halted; it was time to turn back. There was an indentation in the rocks near at hand, fretted away by hungry floods of the past and overhung, now, with creepers and drooping fernery, concerning which my Tripolitan companion told me a long and complicated legend. This shadowy hollow, he explained, was the bridal couch, in olden days, of an earthly maiden and her demon-lover.
Surely that was a faint shriek? I listened intently. Nothing but the wind rustling among some creaking branches. "A woman wailing for her demon-lover." How that line haunted me! And with, it there slowly grew up in my mind a black looming horror; an idea, vague and ghastly, that froze my blood and turned me faint and giddy.
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