ahar. Neither of the boys lived in the harem of course, for they were
old enough to be in the men's part of the house, and have men for their
servants; but they came every day to see their mothers. Even then,
though I was a tiny child, I hated Tahar--and loved Manoeel Valdez. Tahar
had had smallpox, and looked just as he looks now, only worse, because
he has a bad chin that his beard hides; and Manoeel was handsome. Oh, you
can't imagine how handsome Manoeel was! He was like the ideal all girls,
even Arab girls, must dream of, I think. I can see him now--as plainly
as I see you in this sad, pale light that comes up from the desert at
night."

"Is it long since you parted?" Sanda asked quickly, to put away that
persistent thought of trouble.

"We parted more than once, because when our two mothers died, one after
another, of the same sickness--typhoid fever--Manoeel was sent away to
school. He's nine years older than I am--twenty-five now; a little more
than three years younger than Tahar. My father sent him to the
university in Algiers, because, you see, he was Christian--or, rather,
he was nothing at all then; he had not settled to any belief. Tahar was
like Aunt Mabrouka, very religious, and did not care much to study,
except the Koran and a little French. He went once to Paris, but he
didn't stay long. He said he was homesick. Oh, he is clever in his way!
He has known how to make himself necessary to my father."

"And Manoeel Valdez?" asked Sanda.

"My father loved him when he was a boy, because he was of the same blood
as my mother. Although Aunt Mabrouka was jealous even then--for she
ruled in the house after my mother's death--she couldn't prejudice my
father's mind against Manoeel, hard as she tried. Manoeel was free to come
here when he liked, for his holidays, or to the _douar_ if we were
there; and he loved life under the great tent. He had a wonderful voice,
and he could sing our Arab songs as no one else ever could. Father
wished him to be a lawyer, and gave money for his education, because we
Arabs often need lawyers who understand us. But Manoeel cared more for
music than anything else--except for me. When I was eight and he was
seventeen I told him I meant to marry him when I grew up, and he said he
would wait for me. I suppose he was only joking then; but the thought of
him and the love of him in my heart made me begin to grow into a woman
sooner than if I had had only the thoughts of a child. It was