empty.

Sanda might have gone to bid Ourieda good-bye at the last minute: that
would be natural; and it was the last minute, because the sky was
changing its night purple for the gray of dawn, and from the distant
courtyard Lella Mabrouka had heard some time ago the grunting of the
camels. (She was a light sleeper always: and afterward she told Ben
Raana and Tahar that Allah had doubtless sent some messenger to touch
her shoulder at this hour of fate.) She had had no definite suspicions
until that moment, except that she was always vaguely suspicious of the
girls' confidences; but suddenly an idea leaped into her mind, the
suggestion of just such a trick as she herself would have been subtle
enough to play. If the Roumia went to the room of her friend to disturb
her (though Ourieda had been ailing for days), why did she not go
already dressed, by Embarka's help, for the start, since it was time to
set out, and the Agha must be waiting in the courtyard to bid Allah
speed his guest? There might be a simple and innocent reason for what
struck Lella Mabrouka as mysterious, but she determined to find out.
With suddenness she flung open the door of Ourieda's room (which
Embarka, believing Lella Mabrouka safely asleep, had not locked), and by
the light of a French lamp she saw the old nurse draping Ourieda in the
Roumia's veil. In Ourieda's green and gold bed from Tunis lay Sanda in a
nightdress of Ourieda's with her head wrapped up as Ourieda's was often
wrapped by Embarka as a cure for headache.

Instantly the whole plot was clear to the mother of Tahar. She saw how
Ourieda had meant to go, and how Sanda would have kept her place,
guarded from intrusion by the old nurse, until the fugitive was safely
out of reach.

Ourieda, quick of mind as the older and more experienced woman,
explained without waiting to be asked that she and her dearest Sanda had
exchanged clothing, just for a moment, according to the old Arab
superstition that garments changed between those who love have the power
of giving some quality of the owner to the friend. Sanda said nothing at
all, knowing that she would but make matters worse by speaking. When she
understood what the story was to be (she had given hours of each day
during the past months to learning Arabic) she sat up in bed and begun
unwrapping her head as if to prepare for the journey, now that time
pressed, and she must again put on her own things. But if she had had
the slightest hope t