She laughed a short, silvery laugh, and, turning, sped on again, her little slippers coming to sad grief over the rough stones. Presently I stopped her, and, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder, said—
“May I not gaze upon thy face for one brief moment?”
“I cannot permit,” she cried, shrinking from me. “Remember, thou art an Infidel!”
Her answer was a stinging rebuff.
“None of thy people are here to witness,” I urged. “Let me for one second unclasp thy adjar and gaze upon thy countenance;” and at the same time I made a movement as if to tear away the tantalising veil that concealed her features.
“No! no!” she cried in alarm, stepping back and covering her face with both hands. “Thou must not! Thou shalt not! This, then, is thy reward to one who has risked so much to save thee?” she said reproachfully.
“Forgive me,” I exclaimed quickly, dropping upon my knee and raising her soft, delicate hand to my lips. But she drew it away firmly, as if my touch stung her.
“Rise,” she said, rather harshly. “I forgive thee, of course, but there is no time for courtesies. Come.”
Passing round to the other side of the rock, I found tethered in the centre of a patch of tamarisk a splendid Arab horse with handsome trappings.
When she approached, the animal pawed, rubbing its nose upon her hand.