ding, Victoria felt,
rather than saw, a change in Maieddine. She hardly knew how to express
it to herself, unless it was that he had become more Arab. His
courtesies suggested less the modern polish learned from the French (in
which he could excel when he chose) than the almost royal hospitality of
some young Bey escorting a foreign princess through his dominions.
Always "_tres-male_," as Frenchwomen pronounced him admiringly, Si
Maieddine began to seem masculine in an untamed, tigerish way. He was
restless, and would not always be contented to ride El Biod, beside the
tall, white mehari, but would gallop far ahead, and then race back to
rejoin the little caravan, rushing straight at the animals as if he must
collide with them, then, at the last instant, when Victoria's heart
bounded, reining in his horse, so that El Biod's forefeet--shod
Arab-fashion--pawed the air, and the animal sat upon his haunches,
muscles straining and rippling under the creamlike skin.

Or, sometimes, Maieddine would spring from the white stallion's back,
letting El Biod go free, while his master marched beside Guelbi, with
that panther walk that the older races, untrammelled by the civilization
of towns, have kept unspoiled.

The Arab's eyes were more brilliant, never dreamy now, and he looked at
Victoria often, with disconcerting steadiness, instead of lowering his
eyelids as men of Islam, accustomed to the mystery of the veil,
unconsciously do with European women whom they respect, though they do
not understand.

So they went on, travelling the immeasurable desert; and Victoria had
not asked again, since Maieddine's refusal, the name of the place to
which they were bound. M'Barka seemed brighter, as if she looked
forward to something, each day closer at hand; and her courage would
have given Victoria confidence, even if the girl had been inclined to
forebodings. They were going somewhere, Lella M'Barka knew where, and
looked forward joyously to arriving. The girl fancied that their
destination was the same, though at first she had not thought so. Words
that M'Barka let drop inadvertently now and then, built up this
impression in her mind.

The "habitude du Sud," as Maieddine called it, when occasionally they
talked French together, was gradually taking hold of the girl. Sometimes
she resented it, fearing that by this time it must have altogether
enslaved Saidee, and dreading the insidious fascination for herself;
sometimes she found plea