"Bey Effendi!" I cried, "your son is saved!"
He turned round, but I was covered with my torn _simare_, which was all
stained with mud; the light did not fall on me, and he did not recognise
me at all. My voice, too, must have sounded strange, for after all the
emotion and torture I had gone through, and then my long fainting-fit, I
could scarcely articulate a sound. He saw the baby which I was holding
up, and stepped forward.
[Illustration: "HE SAW THE BABY."]
"What is he to me," he said, "without my Féliknaz?"
"Mourad!" I exclaimed, "I am here, too! He darted to me, and took me in
his arms; then, with his eyes full of tears, he looked at tenderly and
kissed me over and again.
"Effendis," he cried, turning at last to his friends, and with a joyous
ring in his voice, "I thought I was ruined, but Allah has given me back
my dearest treasure. Do not pity me any more, I am perfectly happy!"
* * * * *
We lost a great deal of our wealth by that fire. Our slaves had escaped,
taking with them all our most valuable things.
Mourad is quite certain that the women had set fire to the house from
jealousy, but instead of regretting our former wealth, he does all in
his power to make up for it by increased attention and care for me, and
his only trouble is to see me waiting upon him.
But whenever he says anything about that I throw my arms around his neck
and whisper, "Have you forgotten, Mourad, my husband, that your Féliknaz
is your slave?"
_The Queer Side of Things._
or