the man, and his heart seemed likely to be
engulfed in the golden stream of a voice through which continuously
rippled a gentle laughter.

"Monsieur will forgive me for speaking in this abrupt way, but the
moments are few in which to make my request. I hear that in the desert
is a beautiful oasis, and many beautiful Arabian horses. I have never
seen an oasis, for you see I know nothing of Egypt, but I once had an
Arab mare. She was wonderful and white. Perhaps Monsieur has some of
her brothers or sisters? And just for once I should like to see the
desert stars at night, and the desert sun at dawn. Could Monsieur take
me to see these things if----" And then the golden voice stopped
short, and the girl involuntarily took one step backward.

Those who know the race know that the Arab has a tremendous control
over his emotions. He can love and kill in one moment, but until the
woman is literally swept off her feet, or the man or woman is dead, in
a heap, neither by voice or gesture will he betray the passion
consuming him.

The voice, the greatest betrayer of mankind, is especially under
control of these exceedingly strong men. No matter what paroxysm of
rage, revenge, or desire may be shaking the man to the innermost depth
of his being, his voice flows on just as musically, just as softly.

But Jill, being observant, had noticed that although the hands lay
folded on the crossed arms, the nails were dug into the palms, and
raising her eyes to the sombre face for explanation, had encountered
two eyes blazing with a mighty anger.

There are many ways in which to incite the Arab to wrath, but believe
me, the way which will most surely lead to sudden murder, or to long
bloody feud drawn out over many years, passing from generation to
generation, is the way of _ridicule_.

Let him think that you are laughing at him, and I should advise you to
take the nearest camel, train, or boat, or any other means of
locomotion to hand, and fly the country.

The _country_ mind you, for hide you ever so craftily, he will find
you, even though your hair be white, and your figure bent with the
passage of years, and then, only _then_ will he be appeased, when the
real or imagined jest at his expense has been lost in the deep colour
of your rich red blood.

So that when the Arab spoke a light of understanding dawned upon Jill,
for, touching his forehead, mouth, and a spot on his raiment just above
his heart with his right hand,