"Oh, yes," says he. Then, turnin' to Sadie, "A wonderful writer of
letters, Madam,--one every month!"

"Then you knew about little Carlos?" puts in Lindy. "It was a pity. Such
lovely big black eyes. He was nearly two. I wish you could have seen
him."

"I also had regret," says Carlos. "I read that letter many times. It was
because of that, I think, that I continued to read the others, and was
at pains to have them sent to me. They would fill a hamper, all of
them."

"What!" says Sadie. "After you knew the kind of monster he was, Lindy,
did you keep on writing to him?"

"But he was still my husband," protested Lindy.

"Bah!" says Sadie, throwin' a scornful glance at the Pasha.

Don Carlos he spreads out his hands, and shrugs his shoulders. "These
English!" says he. "At first I laughed at the letters. They would come
at such odd times; for you can imagine, Madam, that my life has
been--well, not as the saints'. And to many different women have I read
bits of these letters that came from so far,--to dancing girls, others.
Some laughed with me, some wept. One tried to stab me with a dagger
afterward. Women are like that. You never know when they will change
into serpents. All but this one. Think! Month after month, year after
year, letters, letters; about nothing much, it is true, but wishing me
good health, happiness, asking me to have care for myself, and saying
always that I was loved! Well? Can one go on laughing at things like
that? Once I was dangerously hurt, a spearthrust that I got near Biskra,
and the letter came to me where I lay in my tent. It was like a
soothing voice, comforting one in the dark. Since then I have watched
for those letters. When chance brought me to this side of the world, I
found myself wishing for sight of the one who could remain ever the
same, could hold the faith in the faithless for so long. So here I am."

"Yes, and you ought to be in jail," says Sadie emphatic. "But, since
you're not, what do you propose doing next?"

"I return day after to-morrow," says Don Carlos, "and if the lady who is
my wife so wills it she shall go with me."

"Oh, shall she!" says Sadie sarcastic. "Where to, pray?"

"To El Kurfah," says he.

"And just where," says Sadie, "is that?"

"Three days by camel south from Moorzook," says he. "It is an oasis in
the Libyan Desert."

"Indeed!" says Sadie. "And what particular business are you engaged in
there,--gambling, robbing, slave selling, or----"