dd effect upon my
nerves. I was frightened, I do not know why. The place was a strange
one, it is true, and looked lonely, notwithstanding its rich hangings
and the soft glow of the lamps--indeed, these accessories added to,
rather than detracted from its loneliness, just as a lighted street at
night has always a more solitary appearance than a dark one. It was
so silent in the place, and there lay Billali like one dead before the
heavy curtains, through which the odour of perfume seemed to float up
towards the gloom of the arched roof above. Minute grew into minute, and
still there was no sign of life, nor did the curtain move; but I felt
the gaze of the unknown being sinking through and through me, and
filling me with a nameless terror, till the perspiration stood in beads
upon my brow.

At length the curtain began to move. Who could be behind it?--some naked
savage queen, a languishing Oriental beauty, or a nineteenth-century
young lady, drinking afternoon tea? I had not the slightest idea,
and should not have been astonished at seeing any of the three. I was
getting beyond astonishment. The curtain agitated itself a little, then
suddenly between its folds there appeared a most beautiful white hand
(white as snow), and with long tapering fingers, ending in the pinkest
nails. The hand grasped the curtain, and drew it aside, and as it did so
I heard a voice, I think the softest and yet most silvery voice I ever
heard. It reminded me of the murmur of a brook.

"Stranger," said the voice in Arabic, but much purer and more classical
Arabic than the Amahagger talk--"stranger, wherefore art thou so much
afraid?"

Now I flattered myself that in spite of my inward terrors I had kept
a very fair command of my countenance, and was, therefore, a little
astonished at this question. Before I had made up my mind how to answer
it, however, the curtain was drawn, and a tall figure stood before us. I
say a figure, for not only the body, but also the face was wrapped up in
soft white, gauzy material in such a way as at first sight to remind me
most forcibly of a corpse in its grave-clothes. And yet I do not know
why it should have given me that idea, seeing that the wrappings were so
thin that one could distinctly see the gleam of the pink flesh beneath
them. I suppose it was owing to the way in which they were arranged,
either accidentally, or more probably by design. Anyhow, I felt more
frightened than ever at this ghost-like appa