So they went out through the gloom, and when they drew near the clump of bush, dismounted and advanced on foot, Mea leading the dog Anubis by a string. One of the men, who walked a little ahead, came back and reported that the spy had lit a fire and hung a kettle over it to boil; also that he was seated with his back to the fire and by its light engaged in reading a book, which he thought a strange thing for a spy to do.
Mea listened and said nothing. They were travelling up wind towards the stranger, and now the dog Anubis began to sniff the air and grow excited. Whether by design or by accident, Mea let one end of the fibre string by which she held it slip, and away it bolted into the bush, whence presently arose a sound of joyous yelpings, mingled with the deep tones of a man’s voice.
“That dog is not angry,” said Bakhita.
Mea looked at her, a wonderful look. Then she, too, ran forward into the bush more quickly even than the dog had run. Waving back the escort, for now she was sure of the truth, Bakhita followed, and presently this was what she saw. The man in Arab dress, with a book beside him, was seated on the ground, while behind grazed the lame camel. In the man’s arms, still yelping and licking every part of him that it could reach, was the cur-dog Anubis, whilst standing in the shadow, as yet unseen by the man, with that wonderful look still upon her face, was Mea. She advanced silently, like a dream or a ghost, till she stood between him and the fire. Feeling its heat cut off he ceased fondling the dog, and looked up and round trying to see who it was, for no light fell on her. Then Mea spoke in that rich and love-laden voice of hers which, to him at any rate, differed from the voice of any other woman—spoke in her pretty, broken English:
“Rupert Bey he know the nasty little dog Anubis which runs from his mistress to him, but the mistress Mea, ah! he know her not.”
Next moment there was a great commotion. Poor Anubis rolled from Rupert’s lap into the fire, where he burnt his tail, and then sat down with a yelp and licked it, his eyes still fixed on Rupert, who snatched his crutch and struggled from the ground. He was up, his arms were outstretched; then suddenly he seemed to remember, for he let them fall and with his right hand seized that of Mea and pressed it first to his forehead and then to his lips.
“What a fool,” said Bakhita to herself in the background, “to kiss her fingers when he might have kissed her face. I always thought that these white people were mad, but this Bey is a saint as well. Poor Mea, who has fallen in love with a holy man. Give me a sinner! say I.”
Meanwhile, Mea had returned the “holy man’s” compliment by kissing his fingers, but to herself she said: “So the woman with the snow face and the sapphire eyes has only ill-treated him. It may be evil, but oh! I wish that she were dead, for then he would not only love me, he would say it also.”
“You have come!” she exclaimed, in Arabic. “Oh, my lord! did I not tell you that we should meet again, and have I not felt you drawing near to me, and therefore taken these people from their gardens and sat here for three whole days?”
“Yes, Tama, I have come,” he answered, in a somewhat shaky voice.