She quickly went to him, profound sorrow depicted in her
charming countenance.
"They would laugh at you, sarechsme? Oh, how sorry I should be to
have them do so! True, it is unpleasant to be a prisoner. Yet, you
must know that my father is highly esteemed; he is the first man of
the village. O sarechsme, the Bedouins call him their father, their
protector, and the Mamelukes are proud of his friendship; and it was
out of love for them that he made you a prisoner. If you are
unhappy, oh, forgive poor Butheita, who was compelled to obey her
father's commands! Oh, do not be angry with her!"
"I am not angry with you," said he, gently. "Yet consider, is it not
hard and shameful for me, a man and a soldier, to lie here bound
hand and foot?"
Her countenance lighted up with joy. "Yes, I understand that," said
she, thoughtfully. "It pains me to the soul, not to be able to
lessen your misery, to improve your condition. Yet," she suddenly
continued, "I can and I will relieve you."
"That you can, if you will," murmured he. "Seat your self beside me,
Butheita. Let me hear your voice. Tell me the sweet history of your
heart. Remain with me till your father comes. While listening I
shall forget all shame and disgrace, and rejoice only in your
presence. It would seem as though, a good spirit had led me into
another world, where an angel was bowed down over me, to whom I
looked up in sweet ecstasy!"
"No, it will only be a poor child of the desert, who sits beside
you," said Butheita, smiling.
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