During the following week the cardinal was so occupied with his poor that he nearly forgot his rich. He saw the yacht whenever he took his barca at the molo, and once, when he was crossing the Rialto, he caught a glimpse of Lady Nora and her aunt, coming up the canal in their gondola.
As for the earl, he haunted St. Mark's. Many times each day he went to the treasury only to find it locked. The sacristan could give him no comfort. "Perhaps to-morrow, my lord," he would say when the earl put his customary question; "it is the annual cleaning, and sometimes a jewel needs resetting, an embroidery to be repaired—all this takes time—perhaps to-morrow. Shall I uncover the Palo d'Oro, my Lord, or light up the alabaster column; they are both very fine?" And the earl would turn on his heel and leave the church, only to come back in an hour to repeat his question and receive his answer.
One day the earl spoke out—"Tommaso," he said, "you are not a rich man,I take it?"
"My lord," replied Tommaso, "I am inordinately poor. Are you about to tempt me?"
The earl hesitated, blushed, and fumbled in his pocket. He drew out a handful of notes.
"Take these," he said, "and open the treasury."
"Alas, my lord," said Tommaso, "my virtue is but a battered thing, but I must keep it. I have no key."
The earl went out and wandered through the arcades. He came upon LadyNora and Miss O'Kelly. They were looking at Testolini's shop-windows.Lady Nora greeted him with a nod—Miss O'Kelly with animation.
"I'm havin' a struggle with me conscience," she said.
So was the earl.
"Do ye see that buttherfly?" continued Miss O'Kelly, putting her finger against the glass; "it's marked two hundred lire, and that's eight pounds. I priced one in Dublin, just like it, and it was three hundred pounds. They don't know the value of diamonds in Italy. I've ten pounds that I got from Phelim yesterday, in a letther. He says there's been an Englishman at the Kildare Club for three weeks, who thought he could play piquet. Phelim is travellin' on the Continent. Now, the question in me mind is, shall I pay Father Flynn the ten pounds I promised him, a year ago Easter, or shall I buy the buttherfly? It would look illigant, Nora, dear, with me blue bengaline."
Lady Nora laughed, "I am sure, Aunt Molly," she said, "that Phelim would rather you bought the butterfly, I'll take care of your subscription to Father Flynn."
With an exclamation of joy, Miss O'Kelly ran into the shop.
"Nora," said the earl, "the treasury is still closed."
"Oh," said Lady Nora, "why do you remind me of such tiresome things asthe treasury? Didn't you hear Aunt Molly say that Phelim is on theContinent? I had a wire from him this morning. Read it; it's quiteIrish."
She handed the earl a telegram.
"Shall I read it?" he asked.
"Of course," she answered.
He read—"I'm richer, but no shorter. Is there a hotel in Venice big enough to take me in? Wire answer.PHELIM."
"Will you send this reply for me?" she asked, when the earl had readPhelim's telegram.
"To be sure I will," he said.
"How many words are there?" she asked. "I'll pay for it."
Thus compelled, the earl read her answer—"Come, rich or poor, long or short. Come.NORA."
The earl went off with the telegram, thinking.
The next afternoon the earl came out of the church—his fifth visit since ten o'clock—and there, near the fountain, were Lady Nora and her aunt. The earl marked them from the church steps. There was no mistaking Miss O'Kelly's green parasol.
This time Lady Nora met him with animation. She even came toward him, her face wreathed in smiles.
"Phelim has come!" she exclaimed.
"Quite happy—I'm sure," said the earl. "He's prompt, isn't he?"
"Yes," said Lady Nora, "he's always prompt. He doesn't lose shirt-studs, and he never dawdles."
"Ah!" said the earl.
"Here he comes!" exclaimed Lady Nora, and she began to wave her handkerchief.
The earl turned and saw, coming from the corner by the clock-tower, a man. He had the shoulders of Hercules, the waist of Apollo, the legs of Mercury. When he came closer, hat in hand, the earl saw that he had curling chestnut locks, a beard that caressed his chin, brown eyes, and white teeth, for he was smiling.
"Nora," he cried, as he came within distance, "your friend the cardinal is a good one. He puts on no side. He had me up on the balcony, opened your letter, took out the check, and read the letter before even he looked at the stamped paper. When a man gets a check in a letter and reads the letter before he looks at the check, he shows breedin'."
"The Earl of Vauxhall," said Lady Nora, "I present Mr. Phelim Blake."
The two men nodded; the earl, guardedly; Phelim, with a smile.
"I think, my lord," said Phelim, "that you are not in Venice for her antiquities. No more am I. I arrived this mornin' and I've been all over the place already. I was just thinkin' that time might hang. Twice a day I've to go out to the yacht to propose to Nora. Durin' the intervals we might have a crack at piquet."
The earl was embarrassed. He was not accustomed to such frankness. He was embarrassed also by the six feet three of Phelim. He himself was only six feet.
"I do not know piquet," he said.
"Ah," said Phelim, "it cost me much to learn what I know of it, and I will gladly impart that little for the pleasure of your companionship. I will play you for love."
The earl took counsel with himself—"So long as he is playing piquet with me," he said to himself, "so long he cannot be making love to Nora."
"How long will it take me to learn the game?" he asked.
"As long," answered Phelim, "as you have ready money. When you begin to give due bills you have begun to grasp the rudiments of the game."
"Then," said the earl, "I shall be an apt pupil, for I shall give an IOU the first time I lose"
"In piquet," said Phelim, squaring himself, and placing the index finger of his right hand in his left hand, after the manner of the didactic, "the great thing is the discard, and your discard should be governed by two considerations—first, to better your own hand, and second, to cripple your opponent's. Your moderate player never thinks of this latter consideration. His only thought is to better his own hand. He never discards an ace. The mere size of it dazzles him, and he will keep aces and discard tens, forgetting that you cannot have a sequence of more than four without a ten, and that you can have one of seven without the ace, and that a king is as good as an ace, if the latter is in the discard. I am speakin' now," continued Phelim, "of the beginner. Let us suppose one who has spent one thousand pounds on the game, and is presumed to have learned somethin' for his money. His fault is apt to be that he sacrifices too much that he may count cards. I grant you that you cannot count sixty or ninety if your opponent has cards, but you may, if cards are tied. When I was a beginner I used to see Colonel Mellish make discards, on the mere chance of tyin' the cards, that seemed to me simply reckless. I soon discovered, however, that they were simply scientific. One more thing—always remember that there is no average card in a piquet pack. The average is halfway between the ten-spot and the knave. Now, what are the chances of the junior hand discardin' a ten and drawin' a higher card? In the Kildare Club they are understood to be two and three-eighths to one against, although Colonel Mellish claims they are two and five-eighths to one. The colonel is an authority, but I think he is a trifle pessimistic. He—"
"There, Phelim," said Lady Nora, "I think that is enough for the first lesson. We dine at eight. If Lord Vauxhall has nothing better to do perhaps he will come with you."
"We'll dine on deck, Phelim, dear," said Miss O'Kelly. "You won't have to go below."
The next morning the earl went to the church, as usual. He had not slept well. The advent of Phelim had set him to thinking. Here was a rival; and a dangerous one. He admitted this grudgingly, for an Englishman is slow to see a rival in a foreigner, and who so foreign as an Irishman?
At dinner, on the yacht, the night before, Phelim had been much in evidence. His six feet three had impressed the earl's six feet. Phelim had been well dressed. "Confound him," thought the earl, "he goes to Poole, or Johns & Pegg. Why doesn't he get his clothes at home?" Then Phelim had talked much, and he had talked well. He had told stories at which the earl had been compelled to laugh. He had related experiences of his home-life, of the peasants, the priests, the clubs, hunting and shooting, his brief stay in Parliament, what he had seen in Venice during the last few days; and, when dinner was over, Lady Nora, who had been all attention, said: "Sing for us, Phelim," and they had gone below, Phelim stooping to save his head; and he had struck those mysterious chords upon the piano, by way of prelude, that silence talk, that put the world far away, that set the men to glancing at the women, and the women to glancing at the floor and making sure of their handkerchiefs, and then—he had sung.
How can one describe a song? As well attempt to paint a perfume.
When Phelim finished singing Miss O'Kelly went over and kissed him, andLady Nora went away, her eyes glistening.
The earl remembered all these things as he went up the aisle. He had passed that way five times each day for nine days. He came to the door of the treasury, thinking, not of Nora, but of Phelim—and the door was open.
He went in. The gorgeous color of the place stopped him, on the threshold. He saw the broidered vestments upon which gold was the mere background; jacinths were the stamens of the flowers, and pierced diamonds were the dewdrops on their leaves; he saw the chalices and patens of amethyst and jade, the crucifixes of beaten gold, in which rubies were set solid, as if they had been floated on the molten metal; he saw the seven-light candelabrum, the bobèches of which were sliced emeralds, and then his eyes, groping in this wilderness of beauty, lighted on the turquoise cup.
"My God!" he exclaimed, "she is right. She is selling herself for the most beautiful thing in the world. To steal it is a crime like Cromwell's—too great to be punished," and he put out his hand.
Then, with the cup and Nora within his reach, he heard a still, small voice, and his hand fell.
He began to argue with his conscience. "Who owns this cup?" he asked. "No one. The cardinal said it had been stolen. He said no one could sell it because no one could give title. Why, then, is it not mine as well as any one's? If I take it, whom do I wrong? Great men have never let trifles of right and wrong disturb their conduct. Who would ever have won a battle if he had taken thought of the widows? Who would ever have attained any great thing if he had not despised small things?" and he put out his hand again; and then came surging into his mind the provisions of that code which birth, associations, his school life, and, most of all, his mother, had taught him. What would they say and do at his clubs? Where, in all the world, could he hide himself, if he did this thing? He turned and fled, and, running down the church steps, he came face to face with Lady Nora and Phelim. They were laughing gayly; but, when they saw the earl's face, their laughter ceased.
"Have you seen a ghost, my lord?" asked Phelim.
The earl did not answer; he did not even hear. He stood gazing at Lady Nora. For one brief moment, when he stood before the cup, he had questioned whether a woman who would impose such a condition could be worth winning; and now, before her, her beauty overwhelmed him. He forgot Phelim; he forgot the passers-by; he forgot everything, except the woman he loved—the woman he had lost.
"Nora," he said, "I give you back your promise. I cannot give you the cup."
The color left her cheeks and her hands flew up to her heart—she gazed at him with love and pity in her eyes, and then, suddenly, her cheeks flamed, her white teeth pressed her lower lip, her little foot stamped upon the pavement.
"Very well," she said, "I regret having given you so much trouble;" and she went toward the landing. She took three steps and then turned. The two men stood as she had left them.
"Phelim," she said, smiling, "youwould do something for me, if I were to ask you, would you not?"
"Try me," said Phelim. "Would you like the Campanile for a paper-weight?"
"No," she said, "not that, but something else. Come here."
He went to her, and she whispered in his ear.
"I'll bring it you in half an hour, aboard the yacht," said Phelim, and he started across the Piazza.
Lady Nora went on toward the landing. The earl stood watching her. She did not look back. The earl looked up at the clock-tower. "In half an hour," he said to himself, "he will bring it to her, aboard the yacht;" and he turned and re-entered the church. He went up the aisle, nodded to the sacristan, entered the treasury, took the turquoise cup, came out with it in his hand, nodded again to the sacristan, went down the steps, crossed the Piazza, ran down the landing-stairs, and jumped into a gondola.
"To the English yacht!" he cried.
He looked at his watch. "It seems," he said to himself "that one can join the criminal classes in about six minutes. I've twenty-four the start of Phelim."
They came alongside the Tara, and the earl sprang up the ladder.
"Lady Nora?" he asked of the quartermaster.
"She is below, my lord. She has just come aboard, and she left orders to show you down, my lord."
"Me?" exclaimed the earl.
"She didn't name you, my lord;" said the quartermaster, "what she said was—'A gentleman will come on board soon; show him below.'"
The earl speculated a moment as to whether he were still a gentleman, and then went down the companion-way. He came to the saloon. The door was open. He looked in. Lady Nora was seated at the piano, but her hands were clasped in her lap. Her head was bent and the earl noticed, for the thousandth time, how the hair clustered in her neck and framed the little, close-set ear. He saw the pure outlines of her shoulders; beneath the bench, he saw her foot in its white shoe; he saw, or felt, he could not have told you which, that here was the one woman in all this great world. To love her was a distinction. To sin for her was a dispensation. To achieve her was a coronation.
He tapped on the door. The girl did not turn, but she put her hands on the keys quickly, as if ashamed to have them found idle.
"Ah, Phelim," she said, "you are more than prompt; you never keep one waiting," and she began to play very softly.
The earl was embarrassed. Despite his crime, he still had breeding left him, and he felt compelled to make his presence known. He knocked again.
"Don't interrupt me, Phelim," she said; "this is my swan-song; listen;" and she began to sing. She sang bravely, at first, with her head held high, and then, suddenly, her voice began to falter.
"Ah, Phelim, dear," she cried, "I've lost my love! I've lost my love!" and she put her hands to her face and fell to sobbing.
"Nora!" said the earl. It was the first word he had spoken, and she raised her head, startled.
"Here is the cup, Nora," he said.
She sprang to her feet and turned to him, tears on her cheeks, but a light in her eyes such as he had never seen.
"Oh, my love," she cried, "I should have known you'd bring it."
"Yes," he said, "you should have known."
She stood, blushing, radiant, eager, waiting.
He stood in the doorway, pale, quiet, his arms at his side, the cup in his hand.
"Nora," he said, "I've brought you the cup, but I do not dare to give it to you. I stole it."
"What?" she cried, running toward him. She stopped suddenly and began to laugh—a pitiful little laugh, pitched in an unnatural key. "You shouldn't frighten me like that, Bobby," she said; "it isn't fair."
"It is true," said the earl; "I am a thief."
She looked at him and saw that he was speaking the truth.
"No," she cried, "'tis I am the thief, not you. The cardinal warned me that I was compelling you to this, and I laughed at him. I thought that you would achieve the cup, if you cared for me; that you would render some service to the State and claim it as your reward—that you would make a fortune, and buy it—that you would make friends at the Vatican—that you would build churches, found hospitals, that even the Holy Father might ask you to name something within his gift—I thought of a thousand schemes, such as one reads of—but I never thought you would take it. No, no; I never thought that."
"Nora," said the earl, "I didn't know how to do any of those things, andI didn't have time to learn."
"I would have waited for you, always," she said.
"I didn't know that," said the earl.
"I hoped you didn't," said Lady Nora. "Come!" and she sprang through the door. The earl followed her. They ran up the companion-way, across the deck, down the boarding-stairs. The earl's gondola was waiting.
"To the molo in five minutes," cried Lady Nora to the poppe, "and you shall be rich."
They went into the little cabin. The earl still held the cup in his hand. They sat far apart—each longing to comfort the other—each afraid to speak. Between them was a great gulf fixed—the gulf of sin and shame.
Half-way to the landing, they passed Phelim's gondola, making for the yacht. The cabin hid them and he passed in silence.
"I sent him for some bon-bons," said Lady Nora. "I did it to make you jealous."
They reached the molo in less than five minutes and Lady Nora tossed her purse to the oarsmen, and sprang out.
"Put the cup under your coat," she said. The earl obeyed. He had stolen it openly. He brought it back hidden. They crossed the Piazza as rapidly as they dared, and entered the church. The sacristan greeted them with a smile and led the way to the treasury.
"They haven't missed it yet," whispered Lady Nora.
The sacristan unlocked the outer and the inner door, bowed, and left them.
Lady Nora seized the cup and ran to its accustomed shelf. She had her hand outstretched to replace it, when she uttered a cry.
"What is it?" exclaimed the earl.
She did not answer, but she pointed, and the earl, looking where she pointed, saw, on the shelf—the turquoise cup.
They stared at the cup on the shelf—at the cup in Lady Nora's hand—and at each other—dumfounded.
They heard a limping step on the pavement and the cardinal came in. His face was very grave, but his voice was very gentle.
"My children," he said, "I prayed God that you would bring back the cup, but,mea culpa, I lacked faith, and dared not risk the original. Would God let Nora Blake's granddaughter make shipwreck? The cup you have, my child, is but silver-gilt and glass, but it may serve, some other day, to remind you of this day. Look at it when your pride struggles with your heart. Perhaps the sight of it may strengthen you. Take it, not as the present of a cardinal, or an archbishop, but as the wedding-gift of an old man who once was young, and once knew Nora Blake."
"A wedding-gift?" exclaimed Lady Nora. "What man would ever marry such a wretch as I?"
"Nora!" cried the earl; and he held out his arms.
"My pigeons are waiting for me," said the cardinal; and he went away, limping.
Far down in the Desert of Sahara is the little oasis of El Merb. It is so small that our crude atlases miss it. It has but one well, and the fertile land is not more than forty rods in diameter. It has a mosque, a bazaar, a slave-market, and a café. It is called by the traders of Biskra "The Key of the Desert." It is called by the Mohammedan priests of Biskra "The Treasury of the Desert." It is called by the French commandant at Biskra "A place to be watched." The only communication between El Merb and Biskra is by camels, and Abdullah was once the chief caravan-master.
* * * * *
Abdullah, having felt the humps of his camels, turned to his driver.
"We start to-morrow, Ali," he said; "the beasts are fit."
Ali bowed and showed his white teeth.
"To-morrow," continued Abdullah, "since it is Friday; and immediately after the middle prayer. I hear in the bazaar that the well at Okba is choked. Can we make forty-two miles in one day, so as to cut Okba out?"
"We can," said Ali, "during the first three days, when the beasts do not drink; after that—no."
"Good," said Abdullah; "I will make a route."
Some one plucked at his sleeve and he turned.
"Sir," said a man with a white beard and eager eyes, "I learn that you start for Biskra to-morrow."
"If Allah wills," said Abdullah.
"In crossing the desert," said the old man, "I am told there are many dangers."
"Friend," said Abdullah, "in sitting at home there are many dangers."
"True," said the old man; and, after an interval, he added, "I think I may trust you."
Abdullah shrugged his shoulders and rolled a cigarette.
"Would it please you," said the old man, "to take a passenger forBiskra?"
"At a price," replied Abdullah, striking a match.
"What is the price?" asked the old man.
"Do you pay in dates, hides, ivory, or gold-dust?"
"In dust," replied the old man.
Abdullah threw away his cigarette. "I will carry you to Biskra," said he, "for eight ounces, and will furnish you with dates. If you desire other food, you must provide it. You shall have water, if I do."
"It is not for myself that I seek passage," said the old man, "but for my daughter."
"In that event," said Abdullah, "the price will be nine ounces. Women cast responsibility upon me."
"And her maid-servant?" asked the old man.
"Eight ounces," replied Abdullah.
"It is all I have," said the old man, "but I will give it."
"If you have no more," said Abdullah, "Allah forbid that I should strip you. I will carry the two for sixteen ounces."
"Allah will make it up to you," said the old man. "If you will deign to accompany me to the bazaar, I will pay you immediately."
They went to the arcades about the square and entered the shop ofHassan, the money-changer.
The old man pulled at his girdle and produced, after many contortions, a purse of gazelle skin.
"Friend Hassan," he said, "I wish to pay to this, my son, sixteen ounces. Kindly weigh them for me."
Hassan produced his scales. They consisted of two metal disks, suspended by silk threads from the ends of a fern stem. He balanced this stem upon the edge of a knife, fixed above his table. In one of the pans he placed a weight, stamped with Arabic characters. The pan fell to the table. Hassan produced a horn spoon, which he blew upon and then carefully wiped with the hem of his burnoose. He handed the spoon to the old man, who felt of the bowl.
"It is dry," he said; "nothing will stick to it."
Hassan plunged the spoon into the bag and brought it out, filled with gold-dust, which he poured into the empty pan. The scales rose, fell, trembled, and then settled even.
"I nearly always can judge an ounce," said Hassan; "a grain is another matter."
He weighed out sixteen ounces. The last ounce he left in the pan. Then he turned and, with a sweep of his arm, caught a fly from off the wall. He handled it with the greatest care until he held it in the tips of his fingers; then he put it into his mouth and closed his lips. In a moment he took it out. The fly was moist and dejected. He placed it upon the gold-dust in the pan. The fly began to beat its wings and work its legs. In a moment its color changed from blue-black to yellow. It was coated with gold-dust. Hassan lifted it with a pair of tweezers, and popped it into an inlaid box.
"My commission," he said. "Good-by. Allah be with you."
The old man tied up his bag, which seemed to be as heavy as ever.
"I thought," said Abdullah, glancing at the purse, "that seventeen ounces was all you had."
"What remains," said the old man, and there was a twinkle in his eye, "belongs to Allah's poor, of whom I am one."
"I regret," said Abdullah, with some heat, "that I did not treble my usual price. I merely doubled it for you."
The old man's face clouded, but only for an instant.
"My son," he said, "I am glad that I have intrusted my daughter to you.You will bring her to Biskra in safety. At what hour do you start?"
"Immediately after the noon prayer," answered Abdullah, "and I wait for no one."
"Good," said the old man, "we shall be there;slama."
"Slama," said Abdullah, and they parted.
Abdullah went back to his camels. He found Ali asleep between the black racer and the dun leader. He kicked him gently, as though he were a dog, and Ali sat up smiling and pleased to be kicked, when he saw his master.
"We take two women with us," said Abdullah.
"Allah help us," said Ali.
"He has already," said Abdullah; "I have sixteen ounces in my girdle."
"It seems, then," said Ali, grinning, "that not only Allah has helped you, but you have helped yourself."
"Peace," said Abdullah, "you know nothing of commerce."
"I know, however," said Ali, "that the Englishwoman whom we carried two years ago, and who made us stop two days at the wells of Okba, because her dog was ailing, gave me a bad piece of silver that I could not spend in Biskra. 'T was she of the prominent teeth and the big feet. I used to see her feet when she mounted her camel, and I used to see her teeth when I saw nothing else."
"Peace," said Abdullah. "Allah who made us made also the English."
"Perhaps," said Ali, "but one cannot help wondering why He did it."
"If we carry these two women," said Abdullah, "we must leave the cargo of two beasts behind. Leave four bales of hides; I took them conditioned upon no better freight offering; and put the women on the two lame camels. In this way we profit most, since we sacrifice least merchandise. The porters will be here at sunrise to help you load. See that they are careful. You remember what happened last time, when our cargoes kept shifting. All seems well to-night, except you have loaded that red camel yonder too high on the right side. How can a camel rest if, when he kneels, his load does not touch the ground? He must support the weight himself."
"I intended to alter that in the morning," said Ali.
"The morning may never dawn," said Abdullah, "and meanwhile you rob the beast of one night's rest. Attend to it at once. The speed of a caravan is the speed of its slowest camel."
"Who should know that better than I?" exclaimed Ali. "Have I not crossed the desert nine times with you? Oh, master, bear with me, I am growing old."
"What is your age?" asked Abdullah.
"One-and-thirty," replied Ali.
"My friend," said Abdullah, "you are good for another voyage; and know this, when you fail me, I quit the desert, and turn householder, with a wife or two, and children, if Allah wills it. I myself am six-and-twenty. I have earned a rest.Slama." And he turned on his heel to go, but he turned again.
"Ali," he said, "who lives in the first house beyond the mosque, on the left—the house with the green lattices?"
"I do not know, my master," replied Ali, "but I shall tell you in the morning."
"Good," said Abdullah; "and there is a damsel who sits behind the lattice, and always wears a flower in her hair, a red flower, a flower like this," and he put his hand into the folds of his burnoose and brought out a faded, crumpled, red oleander. "Who is she?"
"Tomorrow," said Ali.
"Good," said Abdullah, and he went away.
"Slama" said Ali, and then he added, to himself, "There goes a masterful man, and a just one, but love has caught him."
And he hurriedly eased the red camel of her load.
The next morning the departing caravan had many visitors. The merchants from the arcades came to see that their ventures were properly loaded. They passed comments upon the camels as Englishmen and Americans do upon horses in the paddock or the show-ring. Some they criticised, some they praised, but they were of one mind as to their condition.
"Their humps are fat," they all agreed; and, as a camel draws upon his hump for food as he draws upon the sacs surrounding his stomach for water, the condition of the caravan was declared to bemleh, which is the Arabic equivalent for "fit."
Abdullah was a busy man. He signed manifests, received money, receipted for it, felt of surcingles, tightened them, swore at the boys who were teasing the camels, kicked Ali whenever he came within reach, and in every way played therôleof the business man of the desert.
Suddenly, from the minaret of the mosque came the cry of the mueddin. The clamor of the market ceased and the Mussulmans fell upon their knees, facing the east and Mecca. The camels were already kneeling, but they were facing the north and Biskra.
While the faithful were praying, the unbelievers from the Soudan fell back and stood silent. A cry to God, no matter what god, silences the patter of the market-place. Abdullah prayed as a child beseeches his father.
"Give me, Allah, a safe and quick journey. Unchoke the wells at Okba.Strengthen the yellow camel. Make high the price of dates and low theprice of hides; 'tis thus I have ventured. Bring us in safety toBiskra. And bring me to the damsel who sits behind the green lattice.These things I pray—thy sinful son, Abdullah."
He rose, and the old man stood at his elbow. Abdullah had forgotten his passengers.
"This," said the old man, turning to a woman veiled to her eyes, "is my daughter, and this," he added, "is her maid," and a negress, comely and smiling, made salaam. "I pray thee," he continued, "to deliver this invoice," and he handed Abdullah a paper.
Abdullah was too busy to notice his passengers. "Let them mount at once," he said, slipping the paper under his girdle, and he left them to Ali, who came up showing his white teeth.
There were the last words, instructions, cautions, adieus, and then Abdullah held up his hand. Ali gave the cry of the camel-driver and the uncouth beasts, twisting and snarling under their loads, struggled to their feet.
Another cry, and they began their voyage. They traversed the square, passed the mosque, turned down a narrow street, and in five minutes crossed the line that bounded the oasis, and entered upon the desert.
Immediately the dun leader took his place at the left and slightly in advance. The fourth on the right of the dun was the black racer. He carried two water-skins and Abdullah's saddle. Then came, in ranks, fifteen camels, Ali riding in the centre. On the right flank rode the two women, with enormous red and white cotton sunshades stretched behind them. Then, at an interval of six rods, came fifteen camels unattended. They simply followed the squad in front. The dun leader and the black racer had lanyards about their necks. The other camels had no harness save the surcingles that held their loads.
In a panic, a sand-storm, a fusillade from Bedouins, a mirage, and a race for water, if Abdullah and Ali could grasp these lanyards, the caravan was saved, since the other camels followed the dun leader and the black racer as sheep follow the bell-wether.
Abdullah walked at the left, abreast of the dun. At intervals he rode the black racer.
The pace of a caravan is two miles an hour, but Abdullah's, the two cripples included, could make two miles and a quarter. The black racer could make sixty miles a day for five days, without drinking, but at the end of such a journey his hump would be no larger than a pincushion, and his temper—?
For centuries it has been the custom of Sahara caravans to travel not more than five miles the first day. Abdullah, the iconoclast, made thirty-three. Ali came to him at two o'clock.
"Shall we camp, master?" he asked.
"When I give the word," replied Abdullah. "You forget that the wells atOkba are choked. We shall camp at El Zarb."
"El Zarb," exclaimed Ali. "We should camp there to-morrow."
"Must I continually remind you," said Abdullah, "that to-morrow may never dawn? We camp at El Zarb to-night."
At nine o'clock they marched under the palms of El Zarb. Abdullah held up his hands; Ali ran to the head of the dun leader; the caravan halted, groaned, and knelt. The first day's journey was over.
The moment that the halt was accomplished, Abdullah went about, loosing the surcingles of his camels. Then he began to pitch his tent. It was of camel-skins, stretched over eight sticks, and fastened at the edges with spikes of locust wood. It was entirely open at the front, and when he had the flaps pinned, he gathered a little pile of camels' dung, struck a match, and began to make his tea. He had no thought for his passengers. His thoughts were with his heart, and that was back at the house beyond the bazaar—the house with the green lattices. Before the water boiled, Ali came up, eager, breathless.
"Master," he said, "the passengers are cared for, and the mistress wears a flower like—likethat; the one you showed me;" and he pointed to Abdullah's bosom. "You are either a faithful servant," said Abdullah, "or you are a great liar. The morrow will tell." And he started toward the passengers' tent. He found it closed. Being a woman's tent, it had front flaps, and they were laced. He walked back and forth before it. He was master of the caravan, more autocratic than the master of a ship. He might have cut the laces, entered, and no one could have questioned. That is the law of the desert. He could more easily have cut his own throat than that slender cord.
He wandered back and forth before the tent. The twilight faded. The shadows turned from saffron to violet, to purple, to cobalt. Out of the secret cavern of the winds came the cool night-breeze of the Sahara.
Still he paced up and down, before the little tent. And as he measured the sands, he measured his life. Born of a camel-driver by a slave; working his way across the desert a score of times before his wages made enough to buy one bale of hides; venturing the earnings of a lifetime on one voyage—making a profit, when a loss would have put him back to the beginning—venturing again, winning again—buying three camels—leasing them—buying three more—starting an express from the Soudan to Biskra one day short of all others;—carrying only dates and gold-dust—insuring his gold-dust, something he learned from the French in Biskra;—buying thirty camels at a plunge—at once the master camel-driver of the Sahara—and here he was, pacing up and down before a laced tent which held behind it—a woman.
The night of the desert settled down, and still he paced. The stars came up—the stars by which he laid his course; and, finally, pacing, he came for the hundredth time to the tent's front and stopped.
"Mistress?" he whispered. There was no answer, "Mistress?" he called, and then, after an interval, the flies of the tent parted—a white hand, and a whiter wrist, appeared, and a red oleander fell on the sands of the desert.
Abdullah was on his knees. He pressed the flower to his lips, to his heart. Kneeling he watched the flaps of the tent. They fluttered; the laces raced through the eyelets; the flaps parted, and a girl, unveiled, stepped out into the firelight. They stood, silent, gazing one at the other.
"You have been long in coming," she said, at length.
There is no love-making in the desert. Thanks to its fervent heat, love there comes ready-made.
"Yes," said Abdullah, "I have tarried, but now that I have come, I stay forever;" and he took her in his arms.
"When did you love me first?" she whispered, half-released.
"When first I saw you, behind the green lattice," gasped Abdullah.
"Ah, that green lattice," whispered the girl; "how small its openings were. And still, my heart flew through them when first you passed. How proudly you walked. Walk for me now—here, in the firelight, where I may see you—not so slowly with your eyes turned toward me, but swiftly, smoothly, proudly, your head held high—that's it—that is the way you passed my lattice, and as you passed my heart cried out, 'There goes my king.' Did you not hear it?"
"No," said Abdullah; "my own heart cried so loudly I heard naught else."
"What did it cry? What cries it now?" she said; and she placed her cheek against his bosom, her ear above his heart. "I hear it," she whispered, "but it beats so fast I cannot understand."
"Then," said Abdullah, "I must tell thee with my lips."
"Oh, beloved," she whispered, "the camels will see us."
"What matters," he said; "they belong to me."
"Then they are my brethren," she said, "since I, also, belong to thee," and with arms entwined they passed out of the fire-light into the purple of the desert.
* * * * *
When they came back, the hobbled camels were snoring, and the unfed fires were smouldering.
"Allah keep thee," said Abdullah, at the door of her tent.
"And thee, my master," said the girl, and the flaps fell.
Abdullah went slowly toward his own tent. He stopped a moment by one of the lame camels. "Thou broughtest her to me," he said, and he eased the beast's surcingle by a dozen holes.
He reached his tent, paused, faced the western horizon, lifted his arms, breathed in the sweet, cool air of the desert, and entered.
Ali had spread a camel's hide, had covered a water-skin with a burnoose for a pillow, and had left, near it, a coiled wax-taper and a box of matches. Abdullah untwined his turban, loosened his sash, felt something escape him, fell on his knees, groped, felt a paper, rose, went to the tent's door, recognized the invoice which the old man had given him, went out, kicked up the embers of the fire, knelt, saw that the paper was unsealed, was fastened merely with a thread, played with the thread, saw it part beneath his fingers, saw the page unfold, stirred up the embers, and read:
"_To Mirza, Mother of the Dancers at Biskra, by the hand of Abdullah. I send thee, as I said, the most beautiful woman in the world. She has been carefully reared. She has no thought of commercialism. Two and two are five to her as well as four. She is unspoiled. She never has had a coin in her fingers, and she never has had a wish ungratified. She knows a little French; the French of courtship merely. Her Arabic is that of Medina. You, doubtless, will exploit her in Biskra. You may have her for two years. By that time she may toss her own handkerchief. Then she reverts to me. I shall take her to Cairo, where second-rate Englishmen and first-rate Americans abound.
"This is thy receipt for the thirty ounces you sent me._
When Abdullah had read this invoice of his love, he sat long before the little fire as one dead. Then he rose, felt in his bosom, and drew out two flowers, one withered, the other fresh. He dropped these among the embers, straightened himself; lifted his arms toward heaven, and slowly entered his tent.
The little fires smouldered and died, and the great desert was silent, save for the sighing of the camels and the singing of the shifting sands.
The next morning broke as all mornings break in the desert, first yellow, then white, and always silent. The air bore the scent of sage. The hobbled camels had broken every shrub within their reach, and stunted herbage is, almost always, aromatic.
Abdullah gave no heed to the sun. He who for ten years had been the most energetic man of the desert had overnight become the most nonchalant. Like Achilles, he sulked in his tent.
At five o'clock Ali ventured to bring his master's coffee. He found Abdullah fully dressed and reading a paper, which he hurriedly thrust into his burnoose when he was interrupted.
"Your coffee, master," said Ali. "We have twelve leagues to make to-day."
"Ali," said Abdullah, "the night before we started I asked you who lived in the house with the green lattices—the next house beyond the mosque—and you promised to tell me in the morning."
"Yes, master," said Ali, "but in the morning you did not ask me."
"I ask you now," said Abdullah.
Ali bowed. "Master," he answered, "the house is occupied by Ilderhim, chief of the tribe of Ouled Nail. He hires it for five years, and he occupies it for the three months, Chaban, Ramadan, and Chaoual, of each year. He has also the gardens and four water-rights. He deals in ivory, gold-dust, and dancing-girls. He formerly lived in Biskra, but the French banished him. They have also banished him from Algiers, and he has been warned from Cairo and Medina. He has a divorced wife in each of those cities. They are the mothers of the dancing-girls. The one in Biskra is Mirza. Every one in Biskra knows Mirza. Doubtless you, master—"
"Yes," said Abdullah, "but the damsel. Who is she?"
"His daughter," replied Ali.
"How know you this?" demanded Abdullah, fiercely.
"Master," said Ali, "last night, when you were looking at the stars with the mistress, I had a word with the maid. She came to me, while I was asleep by the dun leader, and shook me as if I had been an old friend.
"'Save her,' she whispered, as I rubbed my eyes.
"'Willingly,' I replied. 'Who is she?'
"'My mistress,' said the maid. 'They are taking her to Biskra. She has been sold to Mirza. She will dance in the cafés. This sweet flower will be cast into the mire of the market-place. Save her.'
"'How know you this?' I asked.
"'Ah,' she answered, 'this is not the first time I have crossed the desert with one of Ilderhim's daughters. Save her.'
"'Does the damsel know nothing of this—does she not go with her eyes open?' I asked.
"'She thinks,' said the maid, 'that she goes to Biskra to be taught the manners and the learning of the French women—to read, to sing, to know the world. Her heart is even fairer than her face. She knows no evil. Save her.'"
Abdullah groaned and hung his head.
"Forgive me, Allah," he said, "for that I doubted her. Forgive me for that I burned the flowers she gave to me," and he went out.
"Your coffee, master," cried Ali, but Abdullah paid no heed. He went swiftly to the little tent, and there was the damsel, veiled, and already mounted on the lame camel, ready to march.
"Beloved," said Abdullah, "you must dismount," and he lifted her from the back of the kneeling beast.
"Ali," he cried, "place the damsel's saddle on the black racer, and put mine on the dun. We two start on at once for the oasis of Zama. We can make it in thirteen hours. Give us a small water-skin and some dates. I leave everything else with you. Load, and follow us. We will wait for you at Zama. I go to counsel with the Man who Keeps Goats."
In five minutes the black racer and the dun leader were saddled.
"Come, beloved," said Abdullah, and without a word she followed him. She had asked no question, exhibited no curiosity. It was enough for her that Abdullah said, "Come."
They rode in silence for some minutes. Then Abdullah said: "Beloved, I do not know your name."
She dropped her veil, and his heart fell to fluttering.
"The one who loves me calls me 'beloved,'" she said, "and I like that name."
"But your real name?" said Abdullah.
"I was baptized 'Fathma,'" she said, smiling.
"Doubtless," said Abdullah; "since all women are named for the mother of the Prophet; but what is your other name, your house name?"
"Nicha," she answered; "do you like it?"
"Yes," he said, "I like it."
"I like 'beloved' better," said the girl.
"You shall hear it to your heart's content," said Abdullah.
They went on again, in silence, which was broken by the girl.
"Master," she said, "if you do not care to speak to me further, I will put up my veil."
"Do not," exclaimed Abdullah, "unless," he added, "you fear for your complexion."
"I do not fear for my complexion," said the girl, "but for my reputation; and she smiled again.
"That," said Abdullah, "is henceforth in my keeping. Pay no heed to it."
"I am not yet your wife," said the girl.
"True," said Abdullah, "and we are making this forced march to learn how I may make you such. Who is your father, beloved?"
"Ilderhim," she answered; "but why do you ask? You saw him when we started from El Merb."
"Do you love him?" asked Abdullah.
"I scarcely know," answered the girl, after a pause. "I have not seen him often. He is constantly from home. He buys me pretty clothes and permits me to go to the cemetery each Friday with my maid. I suppose I love him—not as I love you, or as I love the camel that brought me to you, or the sandal on your foot, or the sand it presses—still, I think I must love him—but I never thought about it before."
"And your mother?" asked Abdullah.
"I have no mother," said the girl. "She died before I can remember."
"And why do you go to Biskra?" asked Abdullah.
"My father sends me," said the girl, "to a great lady who lives there.Her name is Mirza. Do you not know her, since you lived in Biskra?"
Abdullah did not answer. Something suddenly went wrong with his saddle, and he busied himself with it.
"I am to be taught the languages and the ways of Europe," continued the girl, "music and dancing, and many things the desert cannot teach. I am to remain two years, and then my father fetches me. Now that I consider the trouble and expense he is put to on my account, surely I should love him, should I not?"
Abdullah's saddle again required attention.
They rode for hours, sometimes speaking, sometimes silent. Twice Abdullah passed dates and water to the girl, and always they pressed on. A camel does not trot, he paces. He moves the feet of his right side forward at once, and follows them with the feet of his left side. This motion heaves the rider wofully. The girl stood it bravely for six hours, then she began to droop. Abdullah watched her as her head sank toward the camel's neck; conversation had long ceased. It had become a trial of endurance. Abdullah kept his eye upon the girl. He saw her head bending, bending toward her camel's neck; he gave the cry of halt, leaped from the dun, while yet at speed, raced to the black, held up his arms and caught his mistress as she fell.
There was naught about them save the two panting camels, the brown sands, the blue sky, and the God of Love. Abdullah lifted her to the earth as tenderly, as modestly, as though she had been his sister. It is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and the God of Love is a great God.
It proved that the girl's faintness came from the camel's motion and the cruel sun. Abdullah made the racer and the dun kneel close together. He spread his burnoose over them and picketed it with his riding-stick. This made shade. Then he brought water from the little skin; touched the girl's lips with it, bathed her brow, sat by her, silent, saw her sleep; knelt in the sand and kissed the little hand that rested on it, and prayed to Him that some call God, and more call Allah.
In an hour the girl whispered, "Abdullah?"
He was at her lips.
"Why are we waiting?" she asked.
"Because I was tired," he answered.
"Are you rested?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"Then let us go on," she said.
They rode on, hope sustaining Abdullah, and love sustaining Nicha, for she knew nothing but love.
Then, after eight hours, on the edge of the desert appeared a little cloud, no larger than a man's hand.
Abdullah roused himself with effort. He watched the cloud resolve itself into a mass of green, into waving palms—then he knew that Zama was before him, and that the march was ended.
He turned and spoke to the girl. They had not spoken for hours."Beloved," he said, "a half-hour, and we reach rest."
She did not answer. She was asleep upon her saddle.
"Thank Allah," said Abdullah, and they rode on.
Suddenly the trees of the oasis were blotted out. A yellow cloud of dust rolled in between them and the travellers, and Abdullah said to himself, "It is he whom I seek—it is He who Keeps Goats."
They met. In the midst of threescore goats whose feet had made the yellow cloud of dust was a man, tall, gaunt, dressed in the garb of the desert, and burned by the sun as black as a Soudanese.
"Ah, my son," he cried, in French, when he was within distance, "you travel light this time. Whom have you with you, another mistress, or, at last, a wife?"
"Hush," said Abdullah, "she is a little damsel who has ridden twelve leagues and is cruel tired."
"God help her," said the man of the goats; "shall I give her some warm milk—there is plenty?"
"No," said Abdullah; "let us go to thy house," and the goats, at the whistle of their master, turned, and followed the camels under the palms of the oasis of Zama.
They halted before a little hut, and Abdullah held up his hand. The camels stopped and kneeled. The girl did not move. Abdullah ran to her, took her in his arms, lifted her, turned, entered the hut, passed to the inner room, laid her upon a low couch, beneath the window, put away her veil, kissed her hand, not her lips, and came out.
In the outer room he found his host. Upon the table were some small cheeses, a loaf of bread, a gourd of milk. Abdullah fell upon the food.
"Well, my son," said his host, after Abdullah began to pick and choose, "what brings you to me?"
"This," said Abdullah, and he felt in his bosom, and drew out the invoice of his passenger.
His host took from a book upon the table a pair of steel-bowed spectacles—the only pair in the Sahara. He placed the bow upon his nose, the curves behind his ears, snuffed the taper with his fingers, took the invoice from Abdullah, and read. He read it once, looked up, and said nothing. He read it a second time, looked up, and said: "Well, what of it?"
"Is it legal?" asked Abdullah.
"Doubtless," said his host, "since it is a hiring, merely, not a sale; and it is to be executed in Biskra, which is under the French rule."
"The French rule is beneficent, doubtless?" asked Abdullah.
His host did not answer for some minutes; then he said: "It is a compromise; and certain souls deem compromises to be justice. The real men of this age, as of all others, do not compromise; they fight out right and wrong to a decision. The French came into Algeria to avenge a wrong. They fought, they conquered, and then they compromised. Having compromised, they must fight and conquer all over again."
"You are a Frenchman, are you not?" asked Abdullah.
"No," replied his host, "I am a Parisian."
"Ah," exclaimed Abdullah, "I thought they were the same thing."
"Far from it," replied his host. "In Brittany, Frenchmen wear black to this day for the king whom Parisians guillotined."
"Pardon," said Abdullah; "I have been taught that Paris is French."
"Not so, my son," rejoined his host; "Paris is universal. If you will go to the Museum of the Louvre, and take a seat before the Venus of Milo, and will remain long enough, everybody in this world, worth knowing, will pass by you; crowned heads, diplomats, financiers, the demimonde; you may meet them all. They tell me that the same thing happens to the occupant of the corner table of the Café de la Paix—the table next to the Avenue de l'Opéra; if he waits long enough, he will see every one—"
"Pardon me, Monsieur," said Abdullah, "but I care to see no one save the little maid sleeping within."
"Ah," said his host, "it is love, is it? I thought it was commercialism."
"No," said Abdullah; "it is a question of how I can keep the woman I love, and still keep my commercial integrity. She is consigned to me by her father, to be delivered to Mirza, the mother of the dancers, in Biskra. I am the trusted caravan owner between El Merb and Biskra. In the last ten years I have killed many men who tried to rob my freight of dates, and hides, and gold-dust. Now I long to rob my own freight of the most precious thing I have ever carried. May I do it, and still be a man; or must I deliver the damsel, re-cross the desert, return the passage money to her father, come once more to Biskra, and find my love the sport of the cafés?"
The Man who Keeps Goats rose and paced the floor.
"My son," he said, finally, "when the French occupied Algeria, they made this bargain—'Mussulmans shall be judged by their civil law.' It was a compromise and, therefore, a weakness. The civil law of the Mohammedans is, virtually, the Koran. The law of France is, virtually, the Code Napoléon. The parties to the present contract being Mohammedans, it will be construed by their law, and it is not repugnant to it. If, on the contrary, the damsel were a Christian, the French commandant at Biskra would tear the contract to pieces, since it is against morals. Better yet, ifyouwere a Christian, and the damsel your wife, you might hold her in Biskra against the world."
Abdullah sat silent, his eyes half closed.
"Monsieur," he said at length, "is it very difficult to become aChristian?"
The Man who Keeps Goats sat silent—in his turn.
"My son," he said, finally, "I myself am a priest of the Church. I have lived in the desert for twenty years, but I have never been unfrocked. I cannot answer you, but I can tell you what a wiser than I declared to a desert traveller who put this same question nineteen hundred years ago."
He took up the book upon the table, turned a few pages, and read—"'And the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is desert. And he arose and went: and, behold, a man of Ethiopia, a eunuch of great authority under Candace queen of the Ethiopians, who had the charge of all her treasure, and had come to Jerusalem for to worship, was returning, and sitting in his chariot read Esaias the prophet…. And Philip ran thither tohim, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest? And he said, How can I, except some man should guide me? And he desired Philip that he would come up and sit with him…. Then Philip opened his mouth, and began at the same scripture, and preached unto him Jesus. And as they went ontheirway, they came unto a certain water: and the eunuch said, See,here iswater; what doth hinder me to be baptized?
"'And Philip said, If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest.And he answered and said, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son ofGod.
"'And he commanded the chariot to stand still: and they went down both into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him.'"
Scarcely had the reader ceased when Abdullah sprang to his feet. "Father," he cried, "see,hereis water. What doth hindermeto be baptized?"
"My son," said the old man, "how canst thou believe with all thine heart? No Philip has preached Jesus unto thee."
"What need?" exclaimed Abdullah. "Can a man's belief need preaching to in such a case as this? How long must I believe a religion that saves her I love? A month, a year, until it avails nothing, and she is gone? This eunuch was a blacker man than I; like me, he was a man of the desert. He did not ride with Philip long. I have not only heard what Philip said to him, but I have also heard what you have said to me. Both of you have preached unto me Jesus. What right have you to doubt my belief in a God who will save my love to me? Again, I ask you, what doth hinder me to be baptized?"
"Nothing," said the old man, and they went out both to the well, sparkling beneath the palms, both Abdullah and the Man who Keeps Goats; and he baptized him.
When Abdullah rose from his knees, his forehead dripping, he drew his hand across his face and asked, "Am I a Christian?"
"Yes," said the priest, "so far as I can make you one."
"Thank you," said Abdullah; "you have done much, and in the morning you shall do more, for then you shall baptize the damsel and shall marry us according to your—pardon me—our religion."
They entered the hut, and the priest, pointing toward the chamber-door, asked: "Does she believe?"
"She believes what I believe," said Abdullah.
The priest shook his head. "You speak," he said, "not as a Christian, but as a Moslem. You were brought up to look upon woman as a mere adjunct, a necessary evil, necessary because men must be born into the world. A female child, with you, was a reproach; she was scarcely seen by her parents until she was brought out to be sold in marriage. With Christians it is different. A woman has a soul—"
"Hush," said Abdullah, "or you will awaken the camels with that strange doctrine. A woman has a soul, has she? You read me no such proposition from your prophets, a half-hour ago. Woman was not mentioned by Philip or by the Ethiopian in what you read to me. Is there aught in your book that argues that woman has a soul?"
"Doubtless," said the priest, "but I do not recall it."
He caught up his Bible. He opened it unluckily, for the first words that met his eye were these, and he read them: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" and he paused, embarrassed.
"Whose words were those?" asked Abdullah.
The priest hesitated, crossed himself, and answered: "They were the words of Jesus."
"To whom were they spoken?" asked Abdullah.
The answer lagged. Finally, the priest said, "To His mother."
"Master," said Abdullah, "the more I learn of my new religion, the moreI am enamoured of it;" and he went to the chamber-door and knocked.
"Beloved," he said, and waited.
He knocked again, and again he said, "Beloved."
"Who art thou?" came a voice.
"'Tis I, Abdullah," he said.
"Enter," said the voice.
"Not so," said Abdullah; "but come you out."
"Art thou alone?" asked the voice.
"No," replied Abdullah, "the man who keeps goats is here."
"I have no light," said the voice.
Abdullah took the taper from the table, opened the door six inches, felt a warm soft hand meet his own, pressed it, left the taper in it, closed the door, and groped in darkness to his seat.
"Father," he said, after some moments of silence, "havewomen souls?"
"Doubtless," answered the priest.
"God help them," said Abdullah; "have they not trouble enough, without souls to save?"
The two men sat silent in the darkness.
The door creaked, a line of light appeared; the door swung wide out, and on the threshold stood Nicha, the taper in her hand.
The two men sat silent, gazing.
She had put off her outer costume of white linen and stood dressed for the house, the seraglio. Upon her head was achachia, a little velvet cap, embroidered with seed-pearls. Her bust was clothed with arlila, or bolero of brocaded silk, beneath which was a vest of muslin, heavy with gold buttons. About her slim waist was afouta, or scarf of striped silk. Below came theserroual, wide trousers of white silk that ended mid-leg. Upon her feet were blue velvet slippers, pointed, turned up at the toes and embroidered with gold. About her ankles wereredeefs, or bangles of emeralds, pierced, and strung on common string. At her wrists hung a multitude of bangles, and on her bare left arm, near the shoulder, was a gold wire that pinched the flesh, and from it hung a filigree medallion that covered her crest, tattooed beneath the skin. It is always so with the tribe of Ouled Nail.
This was the costume of the woman, but the woman herself, as she stood in the doorway, the taper in her hand, who may describe her? Tall, lithe, laughing—her black hair, braided, tied behind her neck, and still reaching the ground; her eyebrows straight as though pencilled; her ears small and closely set; her nose straight and thin, with fluttering nostrils; her shoulders sloping; her bust firm and pulsating beneath her linen vest; her slender waist; her little feet, in the blue velvet slippers; the charm of breeding and of youth; the added charm of jewels and of soft textures; what wonder that the two men sat silent and gazing?