ce she felt Guelbi
had to make, as he waded through.

"A little more, and we could not have crossed," said Maieddine, when
they had mounted up safely on the other side of the oued.

"Art thou not very wet and miserable?" the girl asked sympathetically.

"I--miserable?" he echoed. "I--who am privileged to feast upon the
deglet nour, in my desert?"

Victoria did not understand his metaphor, for the deglet nour is the
finest of all dates, translucent as amber, sweet as honey, and so dear
that only rich men or great marabouts ever taste it. "The deglet nour?"
she repeated, puzzled.

"Dost thou not know the saying that the smile of a beautiful maiden is
the deglet nour of Paradise, and nourishes a man's soul, so that he can
bear any discomfort without being conscious that he suffers?"

"I did not know that Arab men set women so high," said Victoria,
surprised; for now the rain had stopped, suddenly as it began, and she
could look out again from between the curtains. Soon they would dry in
the hot sun.

"Thou hast much to learn then, about Arab men," Maieddine answered, "and
fortunate is thy teacher. It is little to say that we would sacrifice
our lives for the women we love, because for us life is not that great
treasure it is to the Roumis, who cling to it desperately. We would do
far more than give our lives for the beloved woman, we Arabs. We would
give our heads, which is the greatest sacrifice a man of Islam could
make."

"But is not that the same thing as giving life?"

"It is a thousandfold more. It is giving up the joy of eternity. For we
are taught to believe that if a man's head is severed from his body, it
alone goes to Paradise. His soul is maimed. It is but a bodiless head,
and all celestial joys are for ever denied to it."

"How horrible!" the girl exclaimed. "Dost thou really believe such a
thing?"

He feared that he had made a mistake, and that she would look upon him
as an alien, a pagan, with whom she could have no sympathy. "If I am
more modern in my ideas than my forefathers," he said tactfully, "I must
not confess it to a Roumia, must I, oh Rose of the West?--for that would
be disloyal to Islam. Yet if I did believe, still would I give my head
for the love of the one woman, the star of my destiny, she whose sweet
look deserves that the word 'ain' should stand for bright fountain, and
for the ineffable light in a virgin's eyes."

"I did not know until to-day, Si Maieddine, that thou wert a