"I name thee Marie," said the priest, "since it is the name borne by the Mother of our Lord."
"Ah," said the girl, "I was baptized Fathma, after the Mother of the
Prophet. There seems to be not so much difference thus far."
When the sacrament had been administered and they had returned to the hut, the priest addressed his converts. "My children," he said, "in order to do a great right I have done a little wrong. I have baptized you into a religion that you know nothing of. How should you? You, Abdullah—I beg your pardon, Philip—that was the name I gave you, was it not?"
Abdullah bowed.
"You, Philip," resumed the priest, "have changed your religion to win a woman whom you love; and you, Marie, have changed yours because the man you love bade you. Neither of you knows anything of the faith you have adopted. I have had no chance to instruct you; but one thing I declare to you, the Christian religion tolerates but one husband and one wife."
Nicha rose, pale, hesitating. She stepped slowly into the light. Her beauty added to the light.
"Beloved," she said, "knew you this?"
"No," he said, "but I know it now, and welcome it."
"Oh, my beloved," she cried, "to think that you are all my own, that I do not have to share you," and she flung her arms about him.
"Hush," said the priest, "or, as Philip says, you will wake the camels."