Zuleika danced with delight. Only once or twice since she could remember had any one come to the camp, for it was in the very heart of El Nedjed, and there was little traveling in those far-off days. Long before, when she was a tiny girl, a traveler had come that way, and while he lingered at camp, told of the blue Persian Gulf beyond the Oman shore, and of the music of its plashing waves. No word has such a magical sound to the Arab as “water,” and to hear of lakes and rivers of it is like some exquisite fairy tale.
“It is a desert of water more beautiful than the land,” he said in the soft, sweet tongue of the East. “Houris dwell there, and often when the moon is shining they come out and sport upon the sands.”
The tale fascinated her at the time, and had always stayed in her memory. That is why she was happy to see a stranger approaching. She thought he might tell her of the lovely realm beyond.
As the cloud rolled nearer they saw a rider on a milk-white steed. Abi Ben Ahmed called to his men to come and welcome the stranger, for an Arab who lets even one slave stay away when a guest arrives, is lacking in courtesy. So they advanced, stalwart, dark-skinned men, whose turbaned heads were bowed almost to the ground as they gave the low salaam of the East, while the chief spoke words of welcome to his camp.
Very swarthy was the rider, and of proud demeanor that proclaimed him a person of much consequence, and as he returned Ben Abi’s salute he spoke with dignity befitting his bearing.
“I bring greeting from the sheik Ben Nedi,” he announced. “He rides this way tomorrow.”
The chief replied, “Mighty is Ben Nedi, and a man of high esteem among his people. He shall have welcome and all that Arab hospitality can offer.”
Then, leading the way, Ben Ahmed took the stranger to the tent, where camel’s milk and dried goat’s flesh were set before him.
Zuleika, on the sand without, could hear their words, but the joyous light was no longer in her eyes. Her face was drawn in wrinkles, and her lip quivered as if she were about to cry. She knew that the man expected on the morrow was not only a powerful chieftain, but a teacher and prophet as well, and that according to the Arab custom every person in camp, even to the lowliest slave, would lay gifts before him. For it is believed by the desert people that to do so brings a blessing. But Zuleika, although she was a chieftain’s daughter, had nothing to offer, for the wealth of Arab rulers is in their flocks and lands, and the poorest child of the West has more treasures than had this little princess of the desert.
“If I had my baby camel I could give that,” she thought as she listened to the murmurs in the women’s tent and knew that all was excitement there over the coming of the stranger.