of many years.

"It was in the morning," the elder woman went on, "but it was hot, and
the sun was fierce as it beat down on the sand. He had been working, and
his face was pale from the heat. It had a haggard look under brown
sunburn. But when our eyes met, a flush like a girl's rushed up to his
forehead. You never saw such a light in human eyes! They were
illuminated as if a fire from his heart was lit behind them. I knew he
had fallen in love with me--that something would happen: that my life
would never be the same again.

"The next time I went to the bath, he was there; and though I held my
veil, he looked at me with the same wonderful look, as if he could see
through it. I felt that he longed to speak, but of course he could not.
It would have meant my ruin.

"In the baths, there's an old woman named Bakta--an attendant. She
always comes to me when I go there. She's a great character--knows
everything that happens in every house, as if by magic; and loves to
talk. But she can keep secrets. She is a match-maker for all the
neighbourhood. When there's a young man of Oued Tolga, or of any village
round about, who wants a wife, she lets him know which girl who comes
to the baths is the youngest and most beautiful. Or if a wife is in love
with some one, Bakta contrives to bring letters from him, and smuggle
them to the young woman while she's at the Moorish bath. Well, that day
she gave me a letter--a beautiful letter.

"I didn't answer it; but next time I passed, I opened my veil and smiled
to show that I thanked him. Because he had laid his life at my feet. If
there was anything he could do for me, he would do it, without hope of
reward, even if it meant death. Then Bakta gave me another letter. I
couldn't resist answering, and so it's gone on, until I seem to know
this man, Honore Sabine, better than any one in the world; though we've
only spoken together once."

"How did you manage it?" Victoria asked the question mechanically, for
she felt that Saidee expected it of her.

"Bakta managed, and Noura helped. He came dressed like an Arab woman,
and pretended to be old and lame, so that he could crouch down and use a
stick as he walked, to disguise his height. Bakta waited--and we had no
more than ten minutes to say everything. Ten hours wouldn't have been
enough!--but we were in danger every instant, and he was afraid of what
might happen to me, if we were spied upon. He begged me to go with him
then, but I da