uf.

CHAPTER XII.

WHEREIN THE BEDOUIN YOUTH KEDAR BECOMES A MOSLEM.

"Mine honor is my life: both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done."

--_Shakespeare._

The scene again opens far to the north of the Nejd, El Shark, or the
East. Into one of its most favored spots, a green and secluded valley,
surrounded by grassy slopes, the sun shone with the fresh brightness of
early morning, sending floods of green-gold light through the leaves Of
the acacias, now covered with yellowish blossoms heavy with perfume.

By the side of a little torrent, rose the black tents of a Bedouin
encampment. Flocks were on the hill-side, and the tinkling of the
camel-bells and soft bleat of the lambs sounded faintly from the
distance.

At the head of the valley, upon a rounded boulder of granite sat a
woman; and before her stood a young man to whom she was earnestly
talking, at times stretching out her hands as though she were beseeching
him for some favor.

The woman was tall and well-built, her eyes were large and dark, and
their brilliancy increased, according to Bedouin custom, by the
application of kohl to the lids. Her face was keen and intelligent, and
her hair, braided in innumerable small plaits, and surmounted by a much
bespangled head-dress, was slightly streaked with gray.

The youth was slight and agile, his every movement full of grace. His
face was oval, regular in its contour, and full of expression, although
the Jewish cast of his features had traces of Arab blood. He seemed to
be in some excitement, for, with a trait peculiar to Bedouins, his
restless and deep-set eyes were now half-closed until but a narrow,
glittering line appeared, and now suddenly opened to their fullest
extent and turned directly upon the woman to whom he talked.

"Would you have me branded among the whole tribe as a coward, mother?"
he was saying. "Are not the Bedouin lads from all over the Nejd flocking
to the field, even as the sparrows flock before the storm clouds of the
north? And will the son of Musa be the craven, crouching at home in his
mother's nest?"

"A flock of vultures are they, rather!" she cried
passionately--"Vultures flocking to a feast of blood, to gloat over the
carrion of brothers, sons, and husbands, left dead on the reeking plain,
while in their solitary homes the women moan, even as moans the bird of
the tamarisk, robbed of its young."

"'Tis your Jewish