ter of the low tents to give the
other camels a rest and wait for evening, and I think Jael Higg
slept, but I don't know, for we gave her a tent to herself; she
refused point blank to share one with Ayisha.

And Ayisha, I know, did not sleep. She came in the noon glare to
the tent I occupied with Narayan Singh and entered without
ceremony, slipping through the low opening with the silent ease
that comes naturally to the Badawi. She squatted down in front of
us, and I awoke the Sikh, who was snoring a chorus from Wagner's
"Niebelungen Ring."

For a moment I thought he was going to resume the night's
flirtation, but there was something in the quiet manner of her
and the serious expression of her face that he recognized as
quickly as I did. All her imperious attitude was gone. She did
not look exactly pleading, nor yet cunning; perhaps it was a
blend of both that gave her the soft charm she had come
deliberately armed with.

Of this one thing I am absolutely sure; whatever that young woman
did was calculated and deliberate; and the more she seemed to act
on impulse the more she had really studied out her move.

Narayan Singh checked a word half-way, and we waited for her to
speak first. Her eyes sought mine, and then the medicine-chest.
Then she looked back at me, and I made a gesture inviting her
to speak.

"You told me," she said at last, "that you have poison in that
box that would reach down to hell and slay the ifrits. Give me
some of it."

_"Ya sit Ayisha._ I need it all for the ifrits," I answered.

"I will make no trouble for you," she said; and for a moment I
suspected she meant to kill herself.

"You are young and beautiful," I told her. "The world holds
plenty of good for you yet."

At that she flashed her white teeth and her eyes blazed.

"Truly! Allah puts a good omen into your mouth, _miyan!_* Yet
little comes to the woman who neglects to plan for it. Give me
the poison. I will pay."

-------------
* _Miyan:_ the rather contemptuous form of address that Arabs use
toward Indian Moslems.
-------------

I was about to refuse abruptly, being rather old-maidish about
some things and not always ready with a smile for what I don't
approve; but Narayan Singh interrupted in time to prevent the
unforgivable offense of preaching my own code of morals uninvited.

"Tell us who is to be poisoned," he demanded.

"That is none of your business," she answered calmly.

"But the poison is our business,"