Mohammed Ali and His House [173]
father to accompany you."
"And why should I do so?" asked he, gazing searchingly into her countenance. "Do you hate me so that you are unwilling to pass an hour in my company? Did I conduct myself unbecomingly while we were together in the palanquin this morning? Why will you not accord me the happiness of riding across the desert with you again? Why do you hate me?"
She remained silent for a while, and then slowly shook her head. "No, it is not that; it is something quite different. It pains me to see you leave. This morning, I could ride with you across the desert; then I did not know you, and did not fear you."
"And now you are afraid of me?" said he, gazing in her eyes intently.
"No, not afraid of you, but afraid of myself," said she, in a low voice. "I am afraid I might love you; and that may not be," cried she, in a firmer tone. "You are a great and distinguished man, and would laugh at the poor Bedouin child if she should regard you otherwise than as a great sarechsme, who had condescended to honor her father's tent by accepting his daughter's hospitality. I had best not ride with you. And I have already told father so."
"And the reason, too, Butheita? " said he, smiling.
"No, sarechsme! I told father I was weary with my long ride. He loves me dearly, and, although he had intended returning with the bey to collect the spoils from the field, he is, nevertheless, ready to accompany you if you will permit him."
"I am to permit you to cause me pain, and deny myself a great happiness, Butheita. Yet, I understand you, and must say that I rejoice to see you act as you do. I rejoice in you, my star-eyed desert queen! Be assured, Mohammed Ali will never forget you. And now, tell me, will you not quite forget me either?"
"No, that I will not, sarechsme."
"Will you also be mindful of your promise to your father to allow him only to kiss you, who shall one day lead you to his home?"
"I shall ever be mindful of this promise."
"Then, Butheita, then will I kiss you," cried he, and with passionate violence he clasped her in his arms, and pressed a kiss on her lips. He then turned and left the tent.
Butheita sank down upon the mat, and with outstretched arms she knelt there, motionless, a statue of ecstasy, of blissful love.
Mohammed stepped out before the tent, and beckoned to the sheik to approach.
"I beg that you will accompany me, sheik; it will be too fatiguing for your daughter to take this ride the second time."
"Gladly, master; she has already told me so herself, and I am ready," said he, commanding the dromedary to kneel down. Mohammed sprang into the palanquin, and the sheik followed him.
"Farewell, Butheita," he cried. She did not answer; she did not wish to go out, as he might see her tears, and her father, too, might observe them. She therefore remained silent. She had drawn the curtain over the entrance to the inner apartment, and lay on the mat weeping; weeping and laughing at the same time, for joy and pain-- ecstasy and pain were contending for victory in her heart. "He is gone, gone! and yet he is ever with me."
The dromedary flew over the desert still more swiftly than in the morning, his feet hardly touching the ground; clouds of sand were whirled aloft, and enveloped the animal and the riders as with a thick veil. No one saw them, and, had any one seen them, he could not have told who they were.
Arrived at the boundary line of the desert, where two horses awaited them, the sheik halted. Having dismounted with Mohammed, he addressed a few loud words to the dromedary; it turned, and flew homeward across the desert.
"It knows the way," said the sheik, smiling. "It will return alone to Butheita."
They mounted the horses, and rode on swiftly through meadows, and palm and sycamore groves.
The sheik now drew rein. "Do you see that black line standing out against the evening sky? That is your camp. If you desire it, I will accompany you farther. It rests with you to decide."
"I will ride on alone, sheik. Farewell, and accept this for your hospitality."
"And why should I do so?" asked he, gazing searchingly into her countenance. "Do you hate me so that you are unwilling to pass an hour in my company? Did I conduct myself unbecomingly while we were together in the palanquin this morning? Why will you not accord me the happiness of riding across the desert with you again? Why do you hate me?"
She remained silent for a while, and then slowly shook her head. "No, it is not that; it is something quite different. It pains me to see you leave. This morning, I could ride with you across the desert; then I did not know you, and did not fear you."
"And now you are afraid of me?" said he, gazing in her eyes intently.
"No, not afraid of you, but afraid of myself," said she, in a low voice. "I am afraid I might love you; and that may not be," cried she, in a firmer tone. "You are a great and distinguished man, and would laugh at the poor Bedouin child if she should regard you otherwise than as a great sarechsme, who had condescended to honor her father's tent by accepting his daughter's hospitality. I had best not ride with you. And I have already told father so."
"And the reason, too, Butheita? " said he, smiling.
"No, sarechsme! I told father I was weary with my long ride. He loves me dearly, and, although he had intended returning with the bey to collect the spoils from the field, he is, nevertheless, ready to accompany you if you will permit him."
"I am to permit you to cause me pain, and deny myself a great happiness, Butheita. Yet, I understand you, and must say that I rejoice to see you act as you do. I rejoice in you, my star-eyed desert queen! Be assured, Mohammed Ali will never forget you. And now, tell me, will you not quite forget me either?"
"No, that I will not, sarechsme."
"Will you also be mindful of your promise to your father to allow him only to kiss you, who shall one day lead you to his home?"
"I shall ever be mindful of this promise."
"Then, Butheita, then will I kiss you," cried he, and with passionate violence he clasped her in his arms, and pressed a kiss on her lips. He then turned and left the tent.
Butheita sank down upon the mat, and with outstretched arms she knelt there, motionless, a statue of ecstasy, of blissful love.
Mohammed stepped out before the tent, and beckoned to the sheik to approach.
"I beg that you will accompany me, sheik; it will be too fatiguing for your daughter to take this ride the second time."
"Gladly, master; she has already told me so herself, and I am ready," said he, commanding the dromedary to kneel down. Mohammed sprang into the palanquin, and the sheik followed him.
"Farewell, Butheita," he cried. She did not answer; she did not wish to go out, as he might see her tears, and her father, too, might observe them. She therefore remained silent. She had drawn the curtain over the entrance to the inner apartment, and lay on the mat weeping; weeping and laughing at the same time, for joy and pain-- ecstasy and pain were contending for victory in her heart. "He is gone, gone! and yet he is ever with me."
The dromedary flew over the desert still more swiftly than in the morning, his feet hardly touching the ground; clouds of sand were whirled aloft, and enveloped the animal and the riders as with a thick veil. No one saw them, and, had any one seen them, he could not have told who they were.
Arrived at the boundary line of the desert, where two horses awaited them, the sheik halted. Having dismounted with Mohammed, he addressed a few loud words to the dromedary; it turned, and flew homeward across the desert.
"It knows the way," said the sheik, smiling. "It will return alone to Butheita."
They mounted the horses, and rode on swiftly through meadows, and palm and sycamore groves.
The sheik now drew rein. "Do you see that black line standing out against the evening sky? That is your camp. If you desire it, I will accompany you farther. It rests with you to decide."
"I will ride on alone, sheik. Farewell, and accept this for your hospitality."