en, not black cotton that Bedouin women usually wear, and
much of it was marvelously hand-embroidered; but all the jewelry
she wore was a necklace made of gold coins. It gave a finishing
touch of opulence that is the crown of finished art.

But it was her eyes that took your breath away, and she was
perfectly aware of it; she used them as the desert does all its
weapons, frankly and without reluctance, sparing no consideration
for the weak--rather looking for weakness to take advantage of
it. They were wise--dark, deadly wise--alight with youth, and yet
amazingly acquainted with all evil that is older than the world.
She was obviously not in the least afraid of us.

"You are from El-Maan?" asked de Crespigny, and she nodded.

"Did you come all this way alone?"

"No woman travels the desert alone."

"Tell me how you got here."

"You know how I got here. I came with a caravan that carried
wheat--the wife of the sheikh of the caravan consenting."

She spoke the clean concrete Arabic of the desert, that has a
distinct word for everything, and for every phase of everything
--another speech altogether from the jargon of the towns.

"Are they friends of yours?"

"Who travels with enemies?"

"Did you know them, I mean, before you came with them?"

"No."

"Then you are not from El-Maan?"

"Who said I was?"

"I thought you did."

"Nay, the words were yours, khawaja." * [* Lit., gentleman-sir]

"Please tell me where you come from."

"From beyond El-Maan."

She made a gesture with one hand and her shoulder that suggested
illimitable distances.

"From which place beyond El-Maan?"

She laughed, and you felt she did it not in self-defense, but out
of sheer amusement.

"Ask the jackal where his hole is! My people live in tents."

"Well, Princess, tell me, at any rate, what you are doing here in
El-Kalil." [Hebron]

"Ask El-Kalil. The whole _suk_ talks of me. I have made purchases."

"That's what I'm getting at. You've made some unusual purchases,
and you've sent to Jerusalem for things that people don't use as
a rule in tents out in the desert--silk stockings, for instance,
and a phonograph with special records, and soft pillows, and
writing-paper, and odds and ends like that. Do you use those things?"

"Why not?"

"Do you use books in French and English?"

She hesitated. It was the first time she had not seemed perfectly
at ease.

"Can you even read Arabic?"

She did not answer.

"Then the bo