“Is anything wrong? What is the matter?” Cecil asked.
“Oh, nothing, mademoiselle,” replied Um Yusuf, hastily. “You want me?”
“I am sure there is something wrong,” said Cecil. “Latifeh Kalfa has brought bad news. What is it that you are to tell me, Um Yusuf?”
“You come with me, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, trying to draw her mistress aside. “That daughter of Shaitan know nothing—she make it all up.”
“God forbid!” said Latifeh Kalfa, piously.
“O my soul, come with me!” entreated Um Yusuf.
“I insist upon hearing what she has told you,” said Cecil, standing her ground, although the affectionate epithet from the lips of the sedate Syrian woman thrilled her with alarm.
“She say, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, unwillingly, “that those two Armenians from Hillah were with Pasha’s caravan in the mountains, and Kurds carry them off.”
“Is this true?” demanded Cecil of Latifeh Kalfa.
“I heard it from my husband, who was with the rearguard, O my lady,” replied the woman; “and more than that, I can testify that though I had often seen them before, yet they disappeared altogether from that time.”