sed, and how on their return they had engaged
a Dutchman that was their superior in strength and numbers; how none
the less Sakr-el-Bahr had wrested victory by the help of Allah, his
protector, how he had been dealt a wound that must have slain any but
one miraculously preserved for the greater glory of Islam, and of the
surpassing wealth of the booty which at dawn tomorrow should be laid at
Asad's feet for his division of it.

CHAPTER VI. THE CONVERT

That tale of Othmani's being borne anon to Fenzileh by her son was gall
and wormwood to her jealous soul. Evil enough to know that Sakr-el-Bahr
was returned in spite of the fervent prayers for his foundering which
she had addressed both to the God of her forefathers and to the God of
her adoption. But that he should have returned in triumph bringing with
him heavy spoils that must exalt him further in the affection of Asad
and the esteem of the people was bitterness indeed. It left her mute and
stricken, bereft even of the power to curse him.

Anon, when her mind recovered from the shock she turned it to the
consideration of what at first had seemed a trivial detail in Othmani's
tale as reported by Marzak.

"It is most singularly odd that he should have undertaken that long
voyage to England to wrest thence just those two captives; that being
there he should not have raided in true corsair fashion and packed his
ship with slaves. Most singularly odd!"

They were alone behind the green lattices through which filtered the
perfumes of the garden and the throbbing of a nightingale's voice laden
with the tale of its love for the rose. Fenzileh reclined upon a
divan that was spread with silken Turkey carpets, and one of her
gold-embroidered slippers had dropped from her henna-stained toes. Her
lovely arms were raised to support her head, and she stared up at the
lamp of many colours that hung from the fretted ceiling.

Marzak paced the length of the chamber back and forth, and there was
silence save for the soft swish of his slippers along the floor.

"Well?" she asked him impatiently at last. "Does it not seem odd to
thee?"

"Odd, indeed, O my mother," the youth replied, coming to a halt before
her.

"And canst think of naught that was the cause of it?"

"The cause of it?" quoth he, his lovely young face, so closely modelled
upon her own, looking blank and vacant.

"Ay, the cause of it," she cried impatiently. "Canst do naught but
stare? Am I the mother o