“Even so; but when she could scarcely talk I took her to my room, and bade her remember that whenever she found one she could trust as a brother—one she could love with all the strength of her nature—she should bid him call her Girzilla, which means, in the language of my own land, ‘the true one.’”
“That is it, then, sweet lady,” answered Max, “for she said, ‘Never mind my name, to thee I will be Girzilla.’ I called her Gazelle, but she stopped me and said, ‘No, no; Girzilla.’”
Max told of his adventures, and dwelt lovingly on the way in which he had been rescued by Girzilla.
Every word seemed to bring proof to the lady’s mind that the guide who had been looked upon as the ally of brigands, and one not really to be trusted, was in reality her daughter, the heiress of the great wealth of Mohammed.
“Where is she?” asked the Arab.
“She is with my uncle, Sherif el Habib,” answered Ibrahim.
“Together we will search for her, and she shall guide us.”
“Jewilikins! but this bangs Banagher!” exclaimed Max, when he left the tent in company with Ibrahim.
“I understand not thy idiom,” said Ibrahim, “but if thou meanest we are lucky, then I agree.”
“I meant that it was strange—very strange; some great mystery is here.”