It was the first time he had spoken of his friends to her. She followed him and was presented to a fat, good-tempered-looking youth, exceeding swarthy, clad in a European suit too tight for him, who apologized in baby French for thus “deranging” her. He opened the door of an adjacent cabin, bowed her in, and then retreated arm in arm with Yûsuf.
It was a two-berth cabin. In the lower bunk a buxom girl of eighteen years or less—a perfect blonde—lay with her eyes closed, making moan with every breath. The childish face was flushed, discoloured round the eyes with weeping; the hands clenched. Whatever her complaint, it was not sea-sickness.
“How is thy health?” the visitor asked softly.
“O Lord! I die! I perish! O fresh air! O sun!” gasped out the sufferer. “O Allah! Was I born a fish to be thus thrown upon the sea—a snake, to be imprisoned in this box?”
“Be brave! The voyage is now almost ended. In two days or three, at most, we are released. Tell me thy pains! What ails thee?”
The prostrate beauty opened great blue eyes of injured innocence and asked: “Who art thou?”
“I am the wife of Yûsuf Bey, thy husband’s friend.”
“The Englishwoman!” She sat up and clung to Barakah. “How canst thou bear it, thou, an honoured wife! Will not thy parents take account for the indignity? Oh, end my life, I pray thee; it is unendurable!”
Slowly, by force of patience, Barakah elicited that the girl, by name Bedr-ul-Budûr, a pet slave of the mother of young Hâfiz Bey, had been presented to him for his comfort on this journey, since his bride, of high ideas, refused to travel. She had been a little frightened in the train, a new experience, but much elated till she came on board this ship and felt the sea. Then she realized that she had been beguiled, defrauded, enticed to an undignified and hideous death. Hiccuping sobs broke in upon her narrative, which ended in a storm of tears.