There was but a second of silence before words came to either, yet that
instant impressed upon Sanda so sharply, so clearly, every detail of
Ourieda's fantastic beauty, that if she had never seen the girl again,
she could by closing her eyes have called up the vision.

The oval face was so fair and purely chiselled that it seemed Greek
rather than Arab. The golden-brown eyes were large and full of dazzling
light as the sun streamed into them under the curve of their heavy black
lashes. But though they were bright they were very sad, keeping their
infinite melancholy while the red lips smiled--the sad, far-off gaze of
a desert creature caged. So long were the lashes that they curled up
almost to the low-drawn brows which drooped toward the temples; and that
droop of the eyebrows, with the peculiar fineness of the aquiline nose
and the downward curve of the very short upper lip, gave a fatal and
tragic look to the ivory face framed in dark hair. On either side its
delicate oval fell a thick brown braid, not black, but with a glint of
red where the light struck; and though Ourieda's hair was not so long as
Sanda's, the two plaits lying over the shoulders and following the line
of the young bust fell below the waist. The girl wore a loose robe of
coral-red silk, low in the neck, and belted in with a soft,
violet-coloured sash. Over this dress was a gandourah of golden gauze
with rose and purple glints in its woof; and a stiff, gold scarf was
wound loosely round the dark head. The colours blazed like flaming
jewels in the African sunshine. As the Agha's daughter moved forward
smiling her sad little smile, there came with her a waft of perfume like
the fragrance of lilies; and the tinkling of bracelets on slender
wrists, the clash of anklets on silk-clad ankles, was like a musical
accompaniment, a faintly played _leit motif_. Perhaps Ourieda had
dressed herself in all she had that was most beautiful in honour of her
guest.

As usual, Sanda forgot herself with the first thrill of excitement. In
her admiration she did not realize that the other girl was
self-conscious, a little frightened, a little anxious, and even
distrustful. It would have seemed incredible to Sanda DeLisle that any
one on earth, even an inmate of a harem, could possibly be afraid of
her.

She held out both hands impulsively, exclaiming in French: "Oh, are you
Ourieda? But you are beautiful as a princess in a fairy story. You are
worth coming all this l