man in your life--a man who is not father or brother,
and yet is of great importance to you; so great that you think of him by
day and dream of him by night?"

"Yes, there are two such men in my life," Sanda replied; and was
surprised at herself that she should have said two. More truly there was
only one man, not counting her father, who had a place in her thoughts.

"Two men!" Ourieda echoed, looking shocked. "But how can there be two?"

Sanda felt herself blushing and ashamed before the woman of another
race. She tried to explain, though it was difficult, because she had
given the answer without stopping to think: indeed, it had almost
spoken itself. "I fancy I said that because you asked me about dreams,"
she apologized. "The man who has been my hero all my life--and always
will be, I suppose, though he doesn't care for me and thinks of me as a
child--I can't dream of, for some strange reason. He's seldom out of my
thoughts by day for very long, I believe; but the other--I hardly know
why I mentioned him!--is only a friend, and quite a new friend. He's
nothing to me at all, really, though I'm interested in him because of
the strange way we met and were thrown together. But the odd thing is, I
dream of him--often."

"The women of my people say it is the man you dream of who has touched
your soul," Ourieda said thoughtfully.

"That's a very poetical idea, but I'm sure it isn't true!" Sanda
exclaimed. "Now tell me about yourself, because if Lella Mabrouka should
send----"

"Yes, I am, oh, so anxious to tell you! But what you said about the man
of your thoughts and the man of your dreams was very queer, and made me
forget for an instant. I am glad you love some one, for that will help
you to understand me, and by and by you will tell me more. Already I can
see that you must be almost as unhappy as I am, because you say the one
you care for doesn't care for you. That must be terrible, but you are
free, and perhaps some day you can make him care. As for me, if I am not
saved soon, I shall be married to Tahar and lost forever."

"But surely your father, who loves you so dearly, won't actually force
you to marry against your will?"

"He will expect me to obey, and I shall have to obey or--kill myself.
Rather that, only--oh, Sanda, I am a coward! At the last minute my
courage might fail. The one thing my father would promise was that I
should be left as I am till my seventeenth birthday. That very day is
fixed for t