A man went like an arrow, while the others retreated to see about the sick camel, and to lead it into camp.
“Mea, Mea,” said Rupert reproachfully, “you are putting me in a very false position. I am nothing but a broken wanderer, and out of seven piastres what gift can I give these men whom you force to do obeisance to me as though I were a sultan?”
“You can give them the best of gifts, the gift you have given me, that of your presence. Let us understand one another, Rupert Bey. You may call yourself my servant if you will, I do not quarrel with the word, for lack of a better. But with me you are my people’s lord, since, but for you, I should not be here among them.”
“How can it be?” he muttered, “since I may not ask—” and the look upon his face told her the rest.
Her hand shook a little. “She still lives?” she said, glancing at him.
He nodded.
“And you still hold yourself bound to her and her alone?”
“Yes, Mea, by my law and my oath, neither of which may be broken.”
She drew nearer and looked up into his face. “Do you still love her, Rupert?”
“No,” he said shortly. “She has behaved cruelly to me; she is quite dead to me.”