this woman who had angered their
master.

For a second he held her with arms stretched to breaking-point and
henna'd toes barely touching the ground, then threw her across the
cushions, whilst the dogs growled softly as they prowled, belly to
ground, about the prostrate figure and the ebony-hued eunuch tore at
his woolly hirsute covering amongst the flowers.

But courtesans have tears as well as other kinds of women, and they use
them every whit as effectively, perhaps a bit better, on account of the
stoutness of their hearts.

So that when the man ordered the woman to sit up, she sat up, wiped
real tears from the innocent-looking eyes, re-arranged her garments,
and prepared for battle.

Tough might describe the rose-hued, satin-textured epidermis of the
scarlet enchantress.

"Thou hast a great daring, woman."

The courtesan knew not the meaning of the word hesitation, and was off
with the still-born desire and on with her original business between
the tossing and falling of a drop from the perfumed fountain and ready
with an explanation even before the man spoke.

"Thou hast misheard my words, lord. Knowing by hearsay of thy hatred
of women, I entered thy house as dancer before thee, to gain as my
reward one hour of speech with thee."

"Speech? Wherefore?

"Because I would help thee, and in helping thee help myself." Clasping
her slender jewelled hands, across her bosom, she looked up to the
gilded ceiling, and sighing softly, whispered:

"I love!"

"_Thou_!"

"Yea, lord. I love--and--thou lovest--and--nay, hear me, it is for thy
advancement--and mine--and he, the man for whom my soul has turned to
water, for whom I yearn--yea, if it be but for one single hour of his
love--a memory of rose-time in the ash-pit of my years--he------" She
stopped.

'Tis wise to approach a wounded tiger warily, especially if you are not
certain as to the extent of the hurt or the power of the weapon of
defence in your hand.

"Sit--and speak quickly, for I would have thee gone."

The man spoke curtly as he sank upon a pile of cushions and pointed to
one on the far side of the Persian rug, upon which the most courted
woman in Egypt knelt, with her eyes full of gentleness and her heart
pounding in a torment of rage and fear.

"Yea, I understand."

Hugh Carden Ali spoke wearily, being stricken with love. For ten solid
minutes the woman had talked round her subject. Intuitive, she scented
danger; usually fearles