Part 15 (1/2)

Nicha rose, pale, hesitating. She stepped slowly into the light. Her beauty added to the light.

”Beloved,” she said, ”knew you this?”

”No,” he said, ”but I know it now, and welcome it.”

”Oh, my beloved,” she cried, ”to think that you are all my own, that I do not have to share you,” and she flung her arms about him.

”Hush,” said the priest, ”or, as Philip says, you will wake the camels.”

”Father,” asked Abdullah, ”will you now marry us, since we are Christians?”

”I would,” answered the priest, ”but it is necessary to have two witnesses.”

Abdullah's face fell, but in an instant it brightened again. He went to the door of the hut and stood, listening. In a moment he turned and said, ”Allah is good, or, rather, G.o.d is good. This new religion works well. Here are our witnesses.”

And, even as he spoke, there came out of the darkness the halt-cry of the camel-driver.

”It is Ali,” said Abdullah, ”and Nicha's maid is with him. They have caught us up.”

He ran out and found the camels kneeling and Ali easing the surcingles.

”Ali,” he cried, ”you must change your religion.”

”Willingly,” said Ali; ”what shall the new one be? The old one has done little for me.”

”Christian,” said Abdullah.

”That suits me,” said Ali; ”under it one may drink wine, and one may curse. It is a useful religion for a trader.”

”And the maid?” asked Abdullah.

”We have travelled a day and a part of a night together,” said Ali, ”and she will believe what I tell her to believe.”

”The old religion is good in some respects,” said Abdullah. ”Call the maid;” and they went to the hut.

”Here are the witnesses,” said Abdullah, ”ready to be Christians.”

”It is not necessary,” said the priest, ”if they can make their mark; that is all that is required.”

So, in the little hut, before an improvised altar, they were married--the camel-driver and the daughter of the Chief of Ouled Nail.

The next morning the caravan took up the march for Biskra.

THE MOTHER OF THE ALMEES

It was the great fast of Rhamadan, and the square of Biskra was crowded with white-robed men waiting for the sun to set that they might eat.

The rough pavement was dotted with fires over which simmered pots filled with what only a very jealous G.o.d indeed would have called food.

About them were huddled the traders from the bazaars, the camel-drivers from the desert, the water-carriers from Bab el Derb. Each man held a cigarette in his left hand and a match in his right. He would smoke before he ate.