With short steps the native woman shuffled quickly along the outside of the wall surrounding the house of Hahmed the Arab, stopping in front of the great gates, which were closed at sunset, to peer between the wrought bronze work, standing her ground unconcernedly when a Nubian of gigantic proportions suddenly appeared on the other side.

Terrifying he looked as he towered in the dusk, his huge eyes rolling, and his hand on the hilt of a scimitar, which looked as though it had been tempered more for use than for ornament.

“What wouldst thou?” he demanded in dog Arabic of the woman whose eyes flashed disdainfully over the veil which hid her pock-marked face.

“Speech with they master, who has bidden me to his presence, and move quickly, thou black dog of ill repute; tarry not in saying that his servant from the big house in the city has news for his most august ears.”

The son of ill repute stared inquisitively for a moment, and then moved off slowly with the inimitable gait of these ebon specimens of mankind, increasing his pace almost to a run once out of the female’s range of vision.

Like a shadow she followed the different people, who, passing her from one to another, led her through rooms and halls into an open court, at the far end of which sat the man she sought, watching two jaguars being led up and down before him.

“Peace unto thee, O! my daughter, and fear not to approach,” Hahmed said gently as the woman made deep obeisance, and shrank from the animals who snarled at her viciously. “And thou, my son, take these products of the bazaar hence, for surely hast thou been fooled by him who brought them from distant climes. Verily, the sire may have been a jaguar, but his mate, judging from the shape of the offspring, must most surely have been a jackal. Bring not such trash to me, if thou wouldst not incur my wrath!”

The snarling products of the bazaar were hurriedly jerked out of the court as Hahmed turned to the woman.

“Is all well, O! faithful one?”

“All is well, O! Most High,” answered the Honourable Mary’s perfect treasure of a maid. “Behold the gracious flower, upon whom it is my joy and honour to wait, changeth her mood one hundred times in the passing hour. She laughs at noon, and her pillow is wet with salt tears at night; her feet, like lotus-buds, carry her hither and thither in the day, the dimness of her room sees her face downwards upon her couch.

“As unto a sweet rose she clings to her friend, the great lady, who forsooth is as pleasing as a well-cooked dish of the flesh of kid mingled with tamarind and rice; but the rose mixeth not with other flowers, and about her heart rests thy most honourable picture.”

For some long time Hahmed stared unseeingly in front and then he spoke.

“Thou hast worked well, my daughter, even from the moment when thou didst take the place of the great lady’s white servant, to report to me upon the doings of the white man who strove to find my wife.

“Ask what reward thou will’st, it shall be granted unto thee!”

And the man, knowing the cupidity of his race, was somewhat astounded when, casting herself at his feet, the woman craved to be taken into his household so that, as she put it, “I may dwell in content in thy shadow, and the shadow of the snow-white dove when she wings her way back to happiness.” Just for a moment the Arab looked into the eyes of the woman, as, greatly daring, she lifted her right hand.

“For so it is written, O! my lord! the blessing of Allah is upon thee, and thy heart shall be at rest.”