"'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.