n my keeping. Pay no heed to
it."

"I am not yet your wife," said the girl.

"True," said Abdullah, "and we are making this forced march to learn
how I may make you such. Who is your father, beloved?"

"Ilderhim," she answered; "but why do you ask? You saw him when we
started from El Merb."

"Do you love him?" asked Abdullah.

"I scarcely know," answered the girl, after a pause. "I have not seen
him often. He is constantly from home. He buys me pretty clothes and
permits me to go to the cemetery each Friday with my maid. I suppose I
love him--not as I love you, or as I love the camel that brought me to
you, or the sandal on your foot, or the sand it presses--still, I think
I must love him--but I never thought about it before."

"And your mother?" asked Abdullah.

"I have no mother," said the girl. "She died before I can remember."

"And why do you go to Biskra?" asked Abdullah.

"My father sends me," said the girl, "to a great lady who lives there.
Her name is Mirza. Do you not know her, since you lived in Biskra?"

Abdullah did not answer. Something suddenly went wrong with his saddle,
and he busied himself with it.

"I am to be taught the languages and the ways of Europe," continued the
girl, "music and dancing, and many things the desert cannot teach. I am
to remain two years, and then my father fetches me. Now that I consider
the trouble and expense he is put to on my account, surely I should
love him, should I not?"

Abdullah's saddle again required attention.

They rode for hours, sometimes speaking, sometimes silent. Twice
Abdullah passed dates and water to the girl, and always they pressed
on. A camel does not trot, he paces. He moves the feet of his right
side forward at once, and follows them with the feet of his left side.
This motion heaves the rider wofully. The girl stood it bravely for six
hours, then she began to droop. Abdullah watched her as her head sank
toward the camel's neck; conversation had long ceased. It had become a
trial of endurance. Abdullah kept his eye upon the girl. He saw her
head bending, bending toward her camel's neck; he gave the cry of halt,
leaped from the dun, while yet at speed, raced to the black, held up
his arms and caught his mistress as she fell.

There was naught about them save the two panting camels, the brown
sands, the blue sky, and the God of Love. Abdullah lifted her to the
earth as tenderly, as modestly, as though she had been his sister. It
is a f