adjunct, a necessary evil, necessary because men must be born into the
world. A female child, with you, was a reproach; she was scarcely seen
by her parents until she was brought out to be sold in marriage. With
Christians it is different. A woman has a soul--"

"Hush," said Abdullah, "or you will awaken the camels with that strange
doctrine. A woman has a soul, has she? You read me no such proposition
from your prophets, a half-hour ago. Woman was not mentioned by Philip
or by the Ethiopian in what you read to me. Is there aught in your book
that argues that woman has a soul?"

"Doubtless," said the priest, "but I do not recall it."

He caught up his Bible. He opened it unluckily, for the first words
that met his eye were these, and he read them: "Woman, what have I to
do with thee?" and he paused, embarrassed.

"Whose words were those?" asked Abdullah.

The priest hesitated, crossed himself, and answered: "They were the
words of Jesus."

"To whom were they spoken?" asked Abdullah.

The answer lagged. Finally, the priest said, "To His mother."

"Master," said Abdullah, "the more I learn of my new religion, the more
I am enamoured of it;" and he went to the chamber-door and knocked.

"Beloved," he said, and waited.

He knocked again, and again he said, "Beloved."

"Who art thou?" came a voice.

"'Tis I, Abdullah," he said.

"Enter," said the voice.

"Not so," said Abdullah; "but come you out."

"Art thou alone?" asked the voice.

"No," replied Abdullah, "the man who keeps goats is here."

"I have no light," said the voice.

Abdullah took the taper from the table, opened the door six inches,
felt a warm soft hand meet his own, pressed it, left the taper in it,
closed the door, and groped in darkness to his seat.

"Father," he said, after some moments of silence, "_have_ women souls?"

"Doubtless," answered the priest.

"God help them," said Abdullah; "have they not trouble enough, without
souls to save?"

The two men sat silent in the darkness.

The door creaked, a line of light appeared; the door swung wide out,
and on the threshold stood Nicha, the taper in her hand.

The two men sat silent, gazing.

She had put off her outer costume of white linen and stood dressed for
the house, the seraglio. Upon her head was a _chachia_, a little velvet
cap, embroidered with seed-pearls. Her bust was clothed with a _rlila_,
or bolero of brocaded silk, beneath which was a vest of muslin, heavy
with go