speech of my mother tongue,—

“Peace, O stranger. May the blessing of the One, whose name be exalted, rest eternally upon thee. Let not fear oppress thee; of a verity thou art with friends.”

“Mine eyes are bewildered, O One of Beauty, whose countenance is as the glorious light of day, and whose eyes are brilliant as stars in the desert. Upon thee be perfect peace and the fervent blessings of one who hath approached near unto Certainty,” I answered with difficulty. Then, as I raised my hand and it came into contact with bandages about my shoulder, I added “The darkness of unconsciousness hath long obscured my mind, and I know not under whose roof I rest. Allah hath been gracious unto me. Verily, He bestoweth abundant provision on such of His servants as He pleaseth.”

“Yea, O stranger,” she answered, piously. “Everything shall perish except Himself; unto Him belongeth judgment. Accursed be those who struck thee down, for Allah, Gracious Bestower of abundant benefits, knoweth both the secret malice which their breasts conceal and the open hatred which they discover.”

In a fit of renewed weakness, brought about by the turmoil of my blood, I lay back upon the silken pillows watching her face. It almost seemed as though something of what was passing in my mind communicated itself to her.

“Knowest thou mine enemies?” I asked, raising myself, and, to my astonishment, discovering, for the first time, that the loose garments I wore were of finest silk, and that I was veiled and disguised as a woman.

“I know that thou wouldst kill me,” she answered briefly, with a curious smile, standing before me with hands behind her back, a veritable houri.

“Kill thee! Why?”

“Because thou art a soldier of the great Khalifa of Omdurman, enemy of my people, and Ruler of the Soudan.”

“What name bearest thou?” I asked.

“I am called Azala Fathma.”

“Daughter of whom?”

“Daughter of ’Othman, Sultan of Sokoto.”

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