"
All remains still. No answer comes to the father's anxious calls.
The sheik now hurries to the kitchen, where breakfast is being
prepared; Djumeila is standing there at the hearth, perfectly
composed, attending to her cooking. She salutes her master with a
deferential air.
"Where is Masa, my daughter? " cries the sheik.
"I do not know, master," she quietly replies; "I have not yet seen
her today. Early in the morning, before sunrise, I went out to the
meadow to milk the goats, that my child, my darling Masa, might have
fresh sweet milk for her breakfast; since then I have been occupied
with getting breakfast ready, and now you ask me 'Where is Masa?'"
"Spare your words and listen: Masa has vanished; Masa is not in her
room."
Djumeila cries out loudly: "Where is Masa? where is my white dove?"
She rushes out and runs to her mistress's room; and, not finding her
there, falls to weeping and wringing her hands in despair.
"Where is my beloved child? she is not with her father, she is not
in her room." She then hastens to the other maid-servant. "Where is
Masa? has no one seen my master's daughter? has no one seen my
beloved child?"
The sheik stood in the hall and listened to Djumeila's cries and the
answer of the other servant. He then walked rapidly all over the
house again, called his daughter's name loudly once more, and stood
still to listen for an answer.
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