'I do not know how he died,' Zehowah answered, looking steadily at the woman's face. 'It was a great misfortune for you. Do you understand? I am very sorry for you. You would have been happy with Abdul Kerim.'
'I mourn for him,' Almasta said, not raising her eyes.
'It is natural and right. Doubtless you loved him as soon as you saw him.'
Almasta glanced quickly at Zehowah, as though suspecting a hidden meaning in the words, and for a moment each of the women looked into the other's eyes, but Zehowah saw nothing. For a wise man has truly said that one may see into the depths of black eyes as into a deep well, but that blue eyes are like the sea of Oman in winter, sparkling in the sun as a plain of blue sand, but underneath more unfathomable than the desert.
Almasta was too wise and deceitful to let the silence last. So when she had looked at Zehowah and understood, she smiled somewhat sorrowfully and spoke.
'I could have loved him,' she said. 'I desire no husband now.'
'That is not true,' Zehowah answered quickly. 'You wish to marry Khaled, and that is the reason why you killed Abdul Kerim.'
Almasta started as a camel struck by a flight of locusts.
'What is this lie?' she cried out with indignation. 'Who has told you this lie?' But her face was as grey as a stone, and her lips trembled.
'You probably killed him by magic arts learned in your own country,' said Zehowah quietly. 'Do not be afraid. We are alone, and no one can hear us. Tell me how you killed him. Truly it was very skilful of you, since the physician, who is the wisest man in Arabia, could not tell how it was done.'