She looked up to the crest of the rock, bathed in the soft moonlight.
"You would lead me up there?" murmured she.
"I will lead you safely, or follow you, as the slave follows his mistress. The way is steep, but your feet are active as those of the gazelle. I now remember having sometimes observed your white figure and your flying footstep. Lightly like the dove have I seen you flit from rock to rock, and I have followed you with reverence. Yes, I have long known you; I have often seen you, and I know that the white dove need only spread her wings to flutter up to the Ear of Bucephalus. O Masa, I entreat you, spread your wings and fly! There I will speak with you of your father and of the future, of yours and of mine. Will you grant my request?"
She did not reply, but only regarded him with an inquiring, doubtful look.
Was it a mere accident, or had he purposely placed himself so that the light of the now waning moon shone full in his face? Was it by chance that he was so placed that a shadow was thrown over the place where she stood, which enabled her to gaze at him from out the darkness with her large, luminous eyes?
"I entreat you, Masa, go not down to your father's house, but ascend with me to the Ear of Bucephalus. There, where none but Allah and Nature can hear my words, I will speak to you of your father, and of the men of the village."
She drew her veil more closely about her and bowed her head. "Lead the way, Mohammed Ali, and I will follow."
And he, overwhelmed with happiness, knelt down and tenderly kissed the little foot that peeped out from beneath her white garments. Then he arose, folded his arms upon his breast, and bowed his head in reverence before his queen.
"Your slave will lead the way," said he, softly; "be merciful, and follow him."
He then turned and began the ascent of the path that leads up to the crest of the rock. Masa followed, praying to herself that her mother's spirit might accompany and guard her from all danger.