RETRIBUTION.
Night has come. The Bedouin chief, Arnhyn, has retired to rest. He
is to start early in the morning with others of his tribe for
Tantah, to take to market the wool of their black sheep, the cloth
they have woven out of it, the goat-skins; and cheese.
Butheita, also, must rise early in the morning, for she is to
accompany her father, and has many little preparations to make. On
the evening before, she had already done up her hair in a hundred
small plaits, securing them with gold-headed pins, on some of which
precious stones sparkled. The pink silk dress, the white veil, and
the shoes, all lie ready for use: She has colored her finger-nails
and the palms of her hands with henna; but Butheita scorns to color
her face; moreover, no one is to see her face. Hitherto she had
cordially detested her veil, but now she hides her countenance
closely in the presence of all men.
Surprised at this, the sheik has often asked her how it happened
that such a change had come over her, and that she showed herself to
no one unveiled since the strangler had sojourned in their tent, as
though his eyes had hurt her, and made her afraid of the gaze of
men.
Butheita had only smiled mysteriously in response to his questions;
she well knows, however, why she does so: she knows it is to keep
sacred from the gaze of other men the countenance consecrated by his
glance.
Night has come. The sheik is sleeping soundly on his mat in the
first apartment of the tent, and Butheita on her cushions in the
inner apartment. Deep silence prevails, interrupted only from time
to time by the desert-wind as it sweeps across the plain and shakes
the stakes of the tent, and makes the white canvas swe11 out.
Surely it was only the wind that now raised the curtain and made the
canvas rustle. But it does not awaken the sheik; he is accustomed to
such sounds, and sleeps so quietly that he does not see the shadow
that glides cautiously into the tent, and creeps to where he lies
sleeping. Without, stands another man, holding up the curtain to
enable the first to see his way.
The moon throws a ray of light into the tent, and with a quick bound
the man is beside the sheik, and binds his hands and feet. The sheik
is now aroused; he opens his lips to utter a cry, but a wooden gag,
is thrust into his mouth. He can neither cry out nor move; he lies
there perfectly helpless, looking up wrathfully at the enemy who is
treating him so shamefully.
The robber's face is masked, and he can not recognize him. But a
robber he assuredly is; yes, a robber who is searching for treasure,
and who well knows that the sheik possesses several little chests
filled with gold-pieces, jewelry, and precious stones, and who also
knows that they are kept within in Butheita's apartment. Yes, the
robber knows this, for he is cautiously creeping into the second
apartment. But this is not the one who bound him; it is another.
There are therefore more of them. The first, the tall man who bound
him, is now waiting at the door of the tent; the other, the smaller
one, is entering the inner apartment. The sheik, powerless to
prevent, sees all this as he lies bound on his mat.
Butheita still sleeps soundly. He who glides to her side regards her
for a moment with an ardent, passionate glance, and then bends down
and quickly binds her feet, and her hands, that lie crossed on her
breast, with silken cloths. As she awakens and attempts to cry out,
he quickly throws a gold-embroidered cuffei over her head, ties it
securely around her neck, and then lifts Butheita in his arms. But,
as he does so, he whispers in her ear, "Fear nothing, Butheita, no
harm will be done you!"
A sudden tremor seizes her; she thinks she recognizes this voice.
But no, it is impossible. He would not come to her as a robber. No,
she is mistaken. Yet she offers no resistance. And what resistance
can she offer? Her hands and feet are bound, and now she is borne
out, and lifted high, and then laid down.
She does not see that she is on her own dromedary. She lies on the
same cushion in the same palanquin in which she had once held the
sarechsme Mohammed Ali a prisoner, and he it is who seats himself
beside her. "And now onward, onward, my Alpha!"
The Nubian mounts his horse, and the swift dromedary speeds his way
through the desert.
The night is clear, and the moon is shedding a golden lustre over
the sand, through which the ship of the desert is flying with its
rich prize, and behind it the Nubian, his hand on his pistol, ready
to shoot down any one who may dare to attack his master.
Now the rider draws rein and stops the dromedary; the sublime image
of the desert-queen, silvered over with the moonlight, towers before
them in majestic proportions.
"This is the desert-queen, the goddess of all the Bedouins!" cries
Mohammed. "Do you wish to see her, Butheita? I am sorry for you, and
would gladly remove the cloth from your head and eyes in order that
you may see. But if you are cruel, you might tear my arms with your
teeth. Will you do that, Butheita?"
She starts and shakes her head, inwardly rejoicing, for she
recognizes these words, and remembers that she spoke them when he
lay a prisoner on the cushion before her. And he now continues to
speak just as she spoke then
"You shake your head, and I will trust you and loosen your bonds."
He quickly unties the cuffei and removes it from her head. She looks
up at him who is bowed down over her, and the kind moon sheds her
soft light upon them, and enables them to see each other.
Oh, happy moment! Forgotten is all, forgotten the long separation--
forgotten, also, that her father will be angry and will grieve for
her! She looks only at him, sees only him, and yet, as he now bends
down closer, she turns her face aside.
Mohammed smiles and points to the sphinx. "Only look at the shadow
the moon throws from the dromedary to the mouth of the sphinx! Look
at the two heads there, they are our shadows, and they are kissing
each other, Butheita!"
She utters a cry of delight. These were her very words, and, as
then, he says, bending over her:
"Why should our shadows only kiss each other? Why not our lips,
too?"
But she shakes her head and says, as she then said:
"I have promised my father to kiss only that man whom I shall follow
to his tent for love. At the door of the tent he may give me the
first kiss."
"And you are still resolved to keep this promise?" said he, smiling.
"I am," says she, also smiling. "And you, Mohammed, shall never kiss
me!" she continues, the smile vanishing from her lips, and her
countenance assuming an angry expression. "No, you shall never kiss
me, for you shall never lead me to your tent as your wife! Oh, I see
it all plainly. You have stolen me from my father to make me a
slave!"
"Yes," said Mohammed, "I intend you to be a slave, the slave of your
love! For I know you love me, Butheita!"
"No!" she exclaims: "No, I do not love you! And you have no right to
make me a slave. I am the Bedouin queen; my whole tribe call me so,
and the daughters of the Bedouins have never been sold into slavery.
No, I will not be a slave!"
"And yet you shall be the slave of your love!"
"I do not love you, I hate you!" replies she, crying with anger.
"Yes, Mohammed Ali, I hate you, and you shall never kiss me, for I
hate the robber who takes me from my father's house in order to make
me a slave!"
"Butheita," says he, gently, "I removed the cloth from your lips,
but you are not keeping your word; you tear my heart with your lips,
and I must cover them again if you continue to wound me so cruelly."
"Do so; close my lips! They shall say nothing else to you!" cries
she, angrily. "Do so, close my lips and eyes again!"
"Well, then, I shall do so," he says, taking the gold-embroidered
cloth and throwing it over her face. "I do so, Butheita, because I
am not willing the rude wind should kiss the cheek of my beloved;
unwilling the stars should gaze down on you in your loveliness,
unwilling the moon should adorn your countenance with its lustre. I,
alone, will adorn you; I, alone, will gaze on your loveliness; and
my sighs, alone, shall kiss your cheeks! Yes, Butheita, you belong
to me alone, and shall be my slave, as I am your slave, and yet your
master. Shake your head if you will. I am your master, for you love
me. You shake your head again? You mean to say you hate me! I don't
believe it.--Onward, my dromedary, speed through the desert! Onward,
my Alpha!"
The dromedary moves on still more rapidly over the desert; its
shadow dances beside them on the sand, and behind them the shadow of
the Nubian's steed.
The moon grows pale, the stars vanish; day is beginning to dawn. As
the sun rises, they reach their destination.
The dromedary stops at the little gate at the end of the park.
Achmed dismounts, and opens the gate. Mohammed has lifted Butheita
from the palanquin, and now carries his precious burden into the
park.
All are asleep in the palace. The two glide softly through the park
to the door of the harem. Achmed unlocks it, and Mohammed ascends
the stairway with noiseless footsteps. No one hears or sees him.
Achmed hastens back to care for the horse and the dromedary.
Mohammed carries the precious burden, that lies quietly in his arms,
through the suite of glittering apartments. Butheita sees nothing of
the splendor through which they pass, and, if she saw it, would not
heed it.
What cares she for gilded rooms! the desert puts on more glorious
attire with each day's dawn, and nothing can be more sublime than
the sphinx near the great pyramids. He who has seen that is
astonished at nothing else; to him all things in the houses of men
seem petty.
Mohammed is aware of this, and he understands the heart of the girl
he bears in his arms; he now enters the large room at the end of the
apartments of the harem. Here he gently lays her down, and locks the
door. The sun has risen and gilds with its light the lattice-work of
the windows, throwing little crimson circles on the mat that covers
the floor. Mohammed unties the silken scarf that binds Butheita's
feet, and assists her to stand up.
He also unties the scarf that binds her hands, and she now stands
before him with her face veiled. He gently removes the cuffei from
her head. Her large black eyes glance around the wide space, and she
sees the tent that looks exactly like her father's. She turns her
eyes on Mohammed with a loving glance. He draws her to his heart.
"Are you still resolved, Butheita, that he only shall kiss you who
leads you to his tent as his wife. And will you only allow him to
kiss you at the door of the tent?"
"I am still so resolved!" she exclaims, but in joyous tones. "I am
still so resolved!"
Mohammed lifts her in his arms and carries her to the tent.
"Butheita, this is my tent! I lead you into it as my wife. Butheita,
may I now kiss you?"
She makes no answer, but, with a loud cry, throws herself upon his
breast, and kisses him passionately. Mohammed encircles Butheita
with his arms, and bears her into his tent.