ain distinction. She draped a black lace shawl
upon her head, while Abdullah strode to the doorway and stared out,
flicking his boots with his whip. Then, gathering up the skirt of her
flowered cotton gown in one hand, she placed the other in Abdullah's
arm, ready crooked to receive it.

"It is the fashionable way," she tittered as they set forth.

CHAPTER II

Beyond the ancient town and its dark green orange gardens, between the
tilled plain and the shore, the sandhills roll away to north and south,
with here a dwelling, there a patch of herbage. To Iskender, lying
prone on the crest of the highest dune, caught up into the laugh of
sunset, their undulations appeared flushed and softly dimpled, like the
flesh of babes. Returning homeward, hungry, from a day of much
adventure, he had espied from this eminence a camp of nomads in a
certain hollow, and at once forgot his supper in desire to sketch it.
He had settled to the work with such complete absorption that Elias
Abdul Messih, his companion, for once grew tired of the sound of his
own voice, and left him, with a sigh for his obtuseness. And Iskender
was glad to be rid of him, to lie alone and nurse his secret joy; for
he had this day made the acquaintance of an Englishman, whose
affability restored his pride of life. Might Allah bless that
light-haired youth, for he was the very lord of kindness, and beautiful
as an angel from Allah. His cheeks had the same rose-bloom as the Sitt
Hilda's, while his blue eyes danced and sparkled like sea-waves in
sunlight. How different from the priest of the Mission, whose gaze was
of green ice! Moreover, he had praised Iskender's painting and taught
him a trick of colouring, which consisted in washing the page yellow
and letting it dry before setting to work on it. The artist had never
been so happy since the day, six months ago, when the missionary had
declared against his sketching as mere waste of time. The ladies of
the Mission, who had fostered it, obsequious to the edict, then
condemned it strongly. His mother, too, turned round and blamed him
for it. Only the Sitt Hilda still was kind, comforting him in secret,
till his love leapt up. And then came outer darkness. Iskender was a
profligate, and driven forth.

Debarred from Christian society, hardly less than Muslim, by his
English education and his Protestantism, he was a pariah in his own
land. This very morning, sketching a gateway in the town, he h