“Shall I always know thy whereabouts?” I asked eagerly.
“No. There will be a certain affinity between our thoughts, but I shall remain hidden from thee until thou hast returned.”
For a few moments we were silent. She was no longer haggard and cold as she had been while the poison coursed through her veins, but the rose-garden of her beauty had forthwith recovered its freshness; in the delicate, rounded limbs and bust there glowed the natural warmth and yielding softness of flesh and blood. Her great lustrous eyes, standing well apart under her darkened brows, the broad white forehead, the perfect nose, the small, well-formed mouth, the pearly teeth, the rounded chin, each added grace to grace. Her beauty was perfect.
“Wilt thou remain here, or go back to the Desert with thy tribe?” I asked, gazing at her enraptured.
“To—to the Desert—peradventure,” she replied hesitatingly. “If the homards are thrown off our scent.”
“What! are thy people about to resume their murderous marauding expeditions?” I asked in surprise.
“I—I know not, Cecil,” she replied, laying her hand upon my arm. “I would prevent their terrible crimes if I could, but, alas! it is impossible. Thou knowest not in what constant peril I exist, or—or how unhappy is my life. A single imprudent word may seal my fate. I may be tied in a sack even to-night, and cast into the sea!”
“How can I help thee? How can I save thee?” I asked, with eagerness.
“Only by undertaking the journey of which I have already spoken,” she answered slowly. “If thy mission is accomplished successfully, then thou wilt rescue me from a cruel fate—a fate far worse than death.”