“Thou, the Amîn, the stranger from over seas, hast kept thy promise,” she said, slowly. “Know, O Roumi, that my lady awaiteth thee.”
“Whither wilt thou conduct me?” I asked. “Is the journey long?”
“No,” she answered. “First, before I, Messoudia, conduct thee to her, thou must swear by thine own Deity never to reveal to any one, Mussulman or Christian, her whereabouts, or, even though strange things may occur,—more remarkable than thou hast ever dreamed,—thou wilt never seek to discover their cause, neither wilt thou approach her in the future unless she commandeth thee.”
The weird old woman’s words mystified me. In the moonlight her white-robed figure looked ghostly and mysterious, and her small dark eyes peered earnestly at me over her veil.
“Why should I give such an undertaking?” I asked.
“Because—because it is my lady’s desire. It is her words I deliver unto thee; if thou dost not obey, thou canst never enter her presence.”
I hesitated. Perhaps, after all, it would be best not to go, for if I were discovered, Zoraida’s life as well as mine would most probably pay the penalty. Besides, she might be already married! Some questions I had asked of her servant, when we met at the Frais-Vallon earlier in the day, were directed towards clearing up that point, but I had only received vague, evasive answers.
Noticing my indecision, the old woman continued—“Thy thoughts, O Roumi, are that thy presence in my lady’s apartment would be an insult to our creed. O’ há kki k lak annoh lise fi hâtha al-amr éhátar.” (“I assure thee there is no danger in that matter.”)
“And if I undertake to respect her wishes although my curiosity be aroused, what then?” I asked, still undecided.
“My lady will admit thee to her presence, and have speech with thee alone. Remember, O Infidel, she risked her life to save thee, and thou, in return, may now redeem thy promise to her.”