"I must cover her with my cloak," he thought.
Thus thirsting with a desire to drink the cup of his degradation to the dregs, Ishmael got back to camp. It was full of touching sights. Instead of the flare of the lights and the tumult of the excited crowds which he had left behind him, there were now only the ashes of dying fires and the melancholy moanings of the people who were sitting about them.
He made his way first to Helena's tent, and, standing by the mouth of it, he called to her.
"Rani!"
A woman who had been lying on the angerib rose to answer him. It was Zenoba.
"Alas! Your Rani has gone, O Master," she said, with mock sympathy but ill-concealed tones of triumph.
"Gone?"
"She was afraid the people might kill her, so she fled away."
"Fled away?"
"I did my best to keep her for your sake, but she loves herself more than you, and that's the truth, O Master."