True! but the man was no evil liver, picking up to throw away, buying to regret the purchase within the hour, attracted by this pretty face or that lovely form. Nay. He loved the girl as it is unhappily given on this earth for but few women to be so loved, and with all the strength of his will he intended the outcome of this love to be one more triumph to the glory of Allah.
As for the pollution of her satin skin, did he not murmur the prayer of purification when in contact with it?
Neither did Jill notice that the man, his purification and his prayers ended, had come over to her, standing gazing down at the almost tragic picture she made out-stretched on the sands.
Her death-white face was buried in the curve of one folded arm, the other, flung out, lay with the palm of the hand uppermost. The little feet were crossed under the crumpled skirt, from which peeped the folds of her last white silk petticoat.
"Poor little bird," he murmured, as the sense of mastership rose strong within him at the sight of the helpless child at his feet. "So weary, so beautiful, and so young. Behold, shall a nest be built for thee in which thou shalt rest, shaking off the plumage harmed in thy short passage through life, to appear at last more beautiful than the most glorious bird in Paradise," and bending he touched her gently.
But Jill, who had had no real sleep since she had left the boat, had passed at last into an almost comatose condition, from which it was doubtful she could have been awakened, even at the sound of Israfil's Trumpet.[1]
Crossing to the camels Hahmed considerably lengthened the lead, and attaching the camels Taffadaln and Howesha one on each side of his own, he bade the two former rise, which they did with alacrity, leading one to believe that they heard the flute-like music calling them to the cool of the palm tree's shade, the doubtful bucket of water, and the certain repast, terminating with a handful of luscious dates.
Stooping, the man raised the unconscious girl from the ground, holding her as lightly as a feather on one arm, and draping the dark cloak around her so as to cover the red-gold hair, drew a corner across the face.
Perhaps some may enjoy restraining the vagaries of a lead horse, which sees fit to proceed sideways at the encounter of anything in motion on the road, or execute a pas seul on the hind legs at the flutter of a leaf, without referring to what happens if a white paper-bag should attract the nervous eye.
But it is mere child's play compared with the leading under certain circumstances, of one or more self-willed, obstinate, vain-glorious camels.