ying,
For I have kissed the eyes, the mouth that I desired."

"But that is a sad song," said Victoria, when Maieddine ceased his
tragic chant, after many verses.

"Thou wouldst not say so, if thou hadst ever loved. Nothing is sad to a
lover, except to lose his love, or not to have his love returned."

"But an Arab girl has no chance to love," Victoria argued. "Her father
gives her to a man when she is a child, and they have never even spoken
to each other until after the wedding."

"We of the younger generation do not like these child marriages,"
Maieddine apologized, eagerly. "And, in any case, an Arab man, unless he
be useless as a mule without an eye, knows how to make a girl love him
in spite of herself. We are not like the men of Europe, bound down by a
thousand conventions. Besides, we sometimes fall in love with women not
of our own race. These we teach to love us before marriage."

Victoria laughed again, for she felt light-hearted in the beautiful
morning. "Do Arab men always succeed as teachers?"

"What is written is written," he answered slowly. "Yet it is written
that a strong man carves his own fate. And for thyself, wouldst thou
know what awaits thee in the future?"

"I trust in God and my star."

"Thou wouldst not, then, that the desert speak to thee with its tongue
of sand out of the wisdom of all ages?"

"What dost thou mean?"

"I mean that my cousin, Lella M'Barka, can divine the future from the
sand of the Sahara, which gave her life, and life to her ancestors for a
thousand years before her. It is a gift. Wilt thou that she exercise it
for thee to-night, when we camp?"

"There is hardly any real sand in this part of the desert," said
Victoria, seeking some excuse not to hear M'Barka's prophecies, yet not
to hurt M'Barka's feelings, or Maieddine's. "It is all far away, where
we see the hills which look golden as ripe grain. And we cannot reach
those hills by evening."

"My cousin always carries the sand for her divining. Every night she
reads in the sand what will happen to her on the morrow, just as the
women of Europe tell their fate by the cards. It is sand from the dunes
round Touggourt; and mingled with it is a little from Mecca, which was
brought to her by a holy man, a marabout. It would give her pleasure to
read the sand for thee."

"Then I will ask her to do it," Victoria promised.

As the day grew, its first brightness faded. A wind blew up from the
south, and slowly d