Slowly she drew a quaint, old-fashioned ring from her finger and placed it upon my hand, laughing the while, saying—
“When thou art far beyond the mountains, this will remind thee how near thou hast been to death;” adding anxiously, “Now go, I beg. See! the sun will soon break forth! Do not tarry another instant—for my sake!”
“Zoraida, shall we never meet again?” I asked desperately, for the mystery surrounding her and her strange words caused me to forget the danger of lingering. “Art thou never in Algiers or Oran, or any of the towns by the sea?”
“Sometimes in Algiers. But very, very seldom. Yet even if I were, we could not meet. The Korân forbids.”
“When wilt thou visit Algiers again?”
“Perhaps in the month of Rbi-el-tani. Then I go to the koubba of Sidi-Djebbar.”
“On what day?” I asked, eagerly.
“Probably on the first Al-go’omah,” she replied. “But why dost thou ask? To attempt to meet again would only bring disgrace upon me—perhaps death. Thou knowest full well how strict is our religion, and how terrible is the punishment meted out to those of my sex who hold converse with the Roumis.”
“Yes, alas!” I said. “Nevertheless, we shall meet again, I feel certain, because we—”
“I make no promise. But if ever we chance to cross each other’s path, thou wilt not compromise me in the eyes of my people?” she urged, with terrible earnestness.