ever done; the blue
eyes were wells of love, in which the Arab's soul sank as he called
though his lips moved not, neither was there sound of words in the room.

"Come to me, beloved, beloved! Come to me!"

And the vision faded, and Hahmed's spirit returned to its dwelling as a
faint sigh from Ali 'Assan made him remember his duty towards his guest.

The Arab does not indulge in nerves, though Allah only knows how long
it will be before he resorts to bromide if he continues to fraternise
with the European, but Hahmed, unknown to himself, was suffering from
the almost unendurable strain of the past endless empty days.

He was consumed with thirst for his beloved, agonising with hunger for
his heart's desire, forcing himself to do business in out-of-the-way
places in his land so as to keep his thoughts from the exquisite face
of his own woman.

True, he could have stayed in Cairo, and waited for further news of
her; true, he could have seized her and carried her forcibly back to
his own lands, but the pride of centuries raged within him, and until
she came back of her own free will he would neither move hand nor foot
to compel her.

Anyway, let us put the following episode down to the months of strain
culminating in an intense irritation wrought by the babble of Ali
'Assan's meaningless chatter, and the vileness perhaps of the coffee.

He lifted his eyes and looked at the picture before him.

The room was low, and the lighting bad, the air suffocating, whilst a
few particles of sand blown in by the hot wind heralded an approaching
storm.

Standing before him with a piece of tawdry gauze about her quite
unprepossessing form stood the over aged dancer with a set simper upon
her silly vacant face.

"Allah!" ejaculated Hahmed, as he lit a cigarette, whilst Achmed,
peeping through the door, suddenly smote his forehead.

Now dancing women were no more to the great man than a troupe of
performing collies, but his artistic sense demanded the best, and when
it was not forth-coming he felt the same annoyance as you or I would
feel if arrayed in purple and fine linen we adorned a box at the opera
with our presence, covered with as many diamonds upon it as possible,
to find a street singer deputising for a Melba or Caruso.

"Thou dog," he said pleasantly to the cringing man, who tremblingly
explained that indeed he had one better--yea, even fair to look upon.
"Behold, if thou offerest yet another insult to this mine gu