She was sixteen now, though she easily might have passed for nineteen,
and she was very good to look upon, with her black hair and her tanned
skin and all the freshness and purity of health and innocence. Yet she
still nursed her secret sorrow, though she no longer mentioned it to My
Dear. Scarce an hour passed that did not bring its recollection of
Korak, and its poignant yearning to see him again.

Meriem spoke English fluently now, and read and wrote it as well. One
day My Dear spoke jokingly to her in French and to her surprise Meriem
replied in the same tongue--slowly, it is true, and haltingly; but none
the less in excellent French, such, though, as a little child might
use. Thereafter they spoke a little French each day, and My Dear often
marveled that the girl learned this language with a facility that was
at times almost uncanny. At first Meriem had puckered her narrow,
arched, little eye brows as though trying to force recollection of
something all but forgotten which the new words suggested, and then, to
her own astonishment as well as to that of her teacher she had used
other French words than those in the lessons--used them properly and
with a pronunciation that the English woman knew was more perfect than
her own; but Meriem could neither read nor write what she spoke so
well, and as My Dear considered a knowledge of correct English of the
first importance, other than conversational French was postponed for a
later day.

"You doubtless heard French spoken at times in your father's douar,"
suggested My Dear, as the most reasonable explanation.

Meriem shook her head.

"It may be," she said, "but I do not recall ever having seen a
Frenchman in my father's company--he hated them and would have nothing
whatever to do with them, and I am quite sure that I never heard any of
these words before, yet at the same time I find them all familiar. I
cannot understand it."

"Neither can I," agreed My Dear.

It was about this time that a runner brought a letter that, when she
learned the contents, filled Meriem with excitement. Visitors were
coming! A number of English ladies and gentlemen had accepted My
Dear's invitation to spend a month of hunting and exploring with them.
Meriem was all expectancy. What would these strangers be like? Would
they be as nice to her as had Bwana and My Dear, or would they be like
the other white folk she had known--cruel and relentless. My Dear
assured her that they a