It pains me to
see you leave. This morning, I could ride with you across the
desert; then I did not know you, and did not fear you."
"And now you are afraid of me?" said he, gazing in her eyes
intently.
"No, not afraid of you, but afraid of myself," said she, in a low
voice. "I am afraid I might love you; and that may not be," cried
she, in a firmer tone. "You are a great and distinguished man, and
would laugh at the poor Bedouin child if she should regard you
otherwise than as a great sarechsme, who had condescended to honor
her father's tent by accepting his daughter's hospitality. I had
best not ride with you. And I have already told father so."
"And the reason, too, Butheita? " said he, smiling.
"No, sarechsme! I told father I was weary with my long ride. He
loves me dearly, and, although he had intended returning with the
bey to collect the spoils from the field, he is, nevertheless, ready
to accompany you if you will permit him."
"I am to permit you to cause me pain, and deny myself a great
happiness, Butheita. Yet, I understand you, and must say that I
rejoice to see you act as you do. I rejoice in you, my star-eyed
desert queen! Be assured, Mohammed Ali will never forget you. And
now, tell me, will you not quite forget me either?"
"No, that I will not, sarechsme."
"Will you also be mindful of your promise to your father to allow
him only to kiss you, who shall one day lead you to his home?"
"I shall ever be mindful of this promise.
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