“Whither, my heart’s delight? Whither in such haste, with thy beautiful countenance distraught with fear?”
Bowlegs’ second wife tore herself from his detaining grasp and ran as fast as her weight would allow her, and literally for her life. “We run in search of the white woman, who is not to be found, and Namlah, who——” The rest of her words were lost as she disappeared in the throng of her panting sisters.
“Oh! ho!” said Bowlegs. “Now find we the kernel in the nut. The beautiful Zarah calleth for Yussuf.” He turned and scanned the band of laughing, interested men. “Behold are the blind and the dumb ones not to be seen. Let me hide in thy shadow, O Lion, lest thy mate-to-be scratches out mine eyes as she passes.”
Al-Asad took no notice. He stood watching the beautiful Arabian as she ran down the steps. The men made a passage for her, and closed in behind and around her as she passed between them, wrapped in her riding cloak.
“Yussuf!” she said sharply. “Where is he? Thou who standeth above thy fellows, seeth thou him?” She laid her hand on Al-Asad’s arm as she spoke and looked up into his eyes, which were alight with love. “Is he here?”
The wind blew her cloak against him. Starving for love, he caught it and held it crushed in his hand, and stood looking down at her, his eyes full of worship, whilst the men, intuitive as are all Orientals, watched the little scene, pressing close upon each other.
“Her veritable mate,” whispered one. “Seeth thou that his right hand holds her cloak?”
“Yea! I bear no malice towards the white man, but ’twere well to send him with the white woman back to the country where the white race is bred,” answered the Patriarch.
“Seest thou Yussuf?”
“Yussuf guards the white man, O Zarah!” said Al-Asad slowly.