o name, no message."

"Please send it to my room," she replied indifferently, whilst, for
some unaccountable reason, her heart throbbed as she responded to the
birthday greetings which came from every corner of the room.

CHAPTER VI

"_A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive_."

COLERIDGE.

"May the blessing of Allah who is God be upon thee, O woman!"

The sonorous words, of the benediction rang through the room as Hugh
Carden Ali stood with the silken curtain drawn back in one hand and the
right raised in blessing upon his mother, who stood with arms
outstretched in the centre of the room.

Then he knelt to receive the benison of the woman he loved, smiled when
he felt the small hands upon his head and, leaping to his feet, swung
her up into his arms, covering her face with kisses.

"You beautiful darling!" he said, as he crushed her up, to the
derangement of her perfumed silks and satins and many jewels. "It's
just heavenly coming back to you, you dear, understanding mother."

The woman's heart leapt to battle, for in the last words, in the way
her beloved son looked down upon her in the tone of his voice, she knew
that, somewhere out in the world, he had received a hurt. She knew so
little of him, had only had him for such a little, little while under
the influence of her love and in the shelter of her heart, and she
loved him, her firstborn, with a love beyond words. Thinking to do the
best for him, and making the biggest mistake of all, beating down her
beloved husband's opposition, she had sent the boy to England, and in
the subsequent eight years had only seen him twice.

"He is of the East, Woman of my Heart! Behold, I have studied him,"
had said the Sheikh, all those years ago. "Let him be, else evil may
befall him."

But Jill, his beautiful wife, had insisted, and his love for her being
beyond telling, the great Arab had submitted to her wish.

For so it had been written.

And what can be the outcome of the tragic mixing of blood? Nothing but
pain.

"Come to the roof and talk, Mother, under the stars."

So up the marble staircase, with his arm about her waist, to the roof
they went, where the silken awnings lay folded and the scented white
flowers hung asleep.

They stood under the canopy of purple night studded with flashing,
silvery points, as the soft winds carried to them the notes of a guitar
softly thrummed in the shade of the palms.

"It is