"See," murmured Butheita, "this is the Queen of the Desert. She is the holy sphinx, before whom men and women have fallen in the dust for thousands of years, and before whom kings and emperors prostrate themselves to this day. Thus spoke the scha-er whom I heard when with my father in Tantah a short time since: 'He who approaches the protecting goddess of mankind must fall down in the dust before her, and worship Allah and the saints.'

"Kneel down, my dromedary, kneel down, my Alpha!" and she draws in her reins, repeating the words in imperious tones. The animal understands her, and sinks gravely upon its knees. Butheita bounds down from her seat with the lightness of the gazelle, and bows low before the sphinx, her arms crossed on her breast.

From the back of the dromedary, where he lies bound, her prisoner looks down with admiration upon the lovely girlish figure that skips lightly across the sand to the foot of the godlike figure. How small she appears beside the mighty image, like a flower blooming at its feet.

Butheita kneels down before the sphinx and murmurs a prayer for protection for herself and father, for the tent in which they dwell, for the dromedary, and for the goats; and finally also for the stranger whom she is about to lead to her tent. "Grant, 0 Allah, that I may be mild, and that he may not feel his fetters too severely! And you, O holy goddess of the desert, grant that Butheita's heart may remain pure and strong, and that she may be enabled to keep the promise made to her father!"

As she murmurs these words a slight tremor possessed itself of her delicate figure, and piously and timidly she looks up into the illimitable, unfathomable eyes of the sphinx, that gaze out upon the whole world. Then she rises and smilingly salutes once more with her little brown hand the Queen of the Desert, and, springing lightly upon the back of her dromedary, grasps the reins.

Butheita's countenance now wears a serious expression. It seems she has brought solemn thoughts with her from the goddess of the desert, and from time to time she casts a timid glance at the prisoner, who lies bound before her. The dromedary moves on at a uniform speed.

Those it is bearing on ward speak but little. Butheita's heart is oppressed; the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, is thoughtful and grave.

Once Butheita raises her arm and points to some towering objects defined sharply against the sky in the distance.

"See, stranger, see; those are the grand monuments of our kings, the Pharaohs, the pyramids, and there lies Sakkara, where the graves of the holy oxen are to be seen. We are almost at our journey's end.

There lies the village of Petresin. Its inhabitants still sleep, and the doors of the huts are closed: they do not see us. That is well, that is necessary; my father said no one must know that we are taking you away a prisoner. Do you see that little spot on the verge of the dessert? That is my father's tent."

Butheita patted her dromedary on the neck with her little hand, urging it to greater speed. Like an arrow they flew across the sand until they had reached her father's tent. Butheita drew in her reins at the door and commanded the animal to kneel down.

"Stranger, we are at our journey's end! At the threshold of our tent, Butheita bids you welcome, blessed be your entrance into our house!"

She quickly loosens the shawl that binds him to the saddle, and before he is aware of what she is doing lifts him in her arms.

Lightly, as though he were a plaything, she bears him into the inner apartment of the tent, where she smilingly deposits him on a mat.

"Blessed be your entrance into my tent! Now refresh yourself with repose after your long ride. I am going out to prepare your breakfast."

He follows Butheita with eager eyes, as she steps into the other apartment of the tent. Forgotten are all the schemes and thoughts that ordinarily occupy him day and night. Forgotten are the past and future; he now lives for the present only. May the sun mercifully stand still, and this hour prove an eternity! Why occupy himself with thoughts of the future, the present is so beautiful, so heavenly? Oh, that it could last forever! But no! a cloud passes over his brow; he remembers--

"No! Let the present pass rapidly," said he. "I am a prisoner, and how would my soldiers laugh to see the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, bound and a captive in the tent of a Bedouin chieftain!"

He knew that Butheita had remained in the other apartment and heard his words. She quickly went to him, profound sorrow depicted in her charming countenance.

"They would laugh at you, sarechsme? Oh, how sorry I should be to have them do so! True, it is unpleasant to be a prisoner. Yet, you must know that my father is highly esteemed; he is the first man of the village. O sarechsme, the Bedouins call him their father, their protector, and the Mamelukes are proud of his friendship; and it was out of love for them that he made you a prisoner. If you are unhappy, oh, forgive poor Butheita, who was compelled to obey her father's commands! Oh, do not be angry with her!"

"I am not angry with you," said he, gently. "Yet consider, is it not hard and shameful for me, a man and a soldier, to lie here bound hand and foot?"

Her countenance lighted up with joy. "Yes, I understand that," said she, thoughtfully. "It pains me to the soul, not to be able to lessen your misery, to improve your condition. Yet," she suddenly continued, "I can and I will relieve you."

"That you can, if you will," murmured he. "Seat your self beside me, Butheita. Let me hear your voice. Tell me the sweet history of your heart. Remain with me till your father comes. While listening I shall forget all shame and disgrace, and rejoice only in your presence. It would seem as though, a good spirit had led me into another world, where an angel was bowed down over me, to whom I looked up in sweet ecstasy!"

"No, it will only be a poor child of the desert, who sits beside you," said Butheita, smiling. "Only look at poor, miserable me.

There is nothing beautiful or radiant about me, proud stranger! Let me go, you would die of hunger and thirst if I remained here, and it would be shameful, too, if I should neglect the duty of hospitality toward my guest. But I will tell you what I can and will do! You shall not lie there bound. I will not have it so, Mohammed Ali. Give me your sacred word that you will not leave, but will remain here until my father comes for you. Give me your word, and I will untie the cords that bind your hands and feet. Give me your word."

He looks at her in astonishment.

"Do you still have such faith in man's promises that you believe I would keep my word if I gave it?"

"Yes," said she, smiling; "I do; this would be a horrible world if one could not. My father has often said to me: 'When a man has given his word he keeps it, though the consequence should be death. Thus a truly brave man acts; only cowards break their word.'"

"Then you consider me a truly brave man, Butheita, and not a coward?"

"It is only necessary to look at you, stranger," said she, with a winning smile, "to feel in the depths of one's heart that you are a man, and no coward. Give me your word, and you are unfettered. Give me your word that you will not leave."

"Well," said he, gazing at her joyously, "I give you my word, as a man! I swear by Allah, and the prophet, and by my own honor, I will not leave here until your father comes and says that I may, and states the conditions. I will, if you will permit me, remain with you in the mean while, and do nothing but look at you. I will be your slave; drink the sweet dew from your lips, and read your commands in your eyes. Tell me, pearl of women, will you accept me as your slave?"

Without answering his question, she knelt down blushingly, and untied the cords that bound his hands and feet. "Now, stand up, a free man!"

He arose, and with a feeling of intense relief, stretched out the hands that ached from their long confinement, and extended his arms.

He would gladly have clasped the girl in their embrace, but, with the grace and ease of a gazelle, she sprang back out of his reach to the door of the tent, and looked at him threateningly.

"Mohammed Ali, if you abuse your freedom, you are not the man I took you to be."

He bowed his head in silence. "You are right, Butheita, forgive me!

I submit to the will of the desert queen; I am your slave, and await your commands; command me, and I will humbly obey."

He looked at her inquiringly. Butheita's large black eyes gazed at him with a soft expression, and again a tremor agitated her gentle being.

"I desire nothing more, sarechsme," said she, timidly, "than that you remain here in the rear apartment of the tent, and I beg you, should any one come, to remain here quietly; as it is that place generally reserved for women, no one will dare to enter it. I dwell in it alone, for my father is not fond of women! He says they are talkative and quarrelsome, vain and lazy, too, and he has had enough of them. Twelve wives has he brought to his tent, one after the other, but after a short time he sent every one of them home to her father. I am the daughter of his first wife, and my father loves me more than he has ever loved any of them; and he wants no woman in his tent but his Butheita. Nor do I wish to have any other woman here. I can attend to father's household affairs quite well, alone.

I milk the goats, make the butter, and bake the bread. I also spin the wool of our black sheep, and still have plenty of time left to knit the shawls my father needs."

"So industrious, Butheita? Happy and enviable will the man be who shall some day lead your father's daughter to his home!"

"You need not envy him," said she, quickly, "there will be no such man. It is with me as with my father; he loves only me, and I only him. No man shall ever lead me to his tent as his wife!"

"Butheita will say that until she loves some man," replied Mohammed, looking deeply into her eyes. "Would Butheita one day follow me to my tent--me?"

She did not reply. She drew back in alarm, and again she blushed deeply, quite unlike a child of the desert, but after the fashion of a city girl, and drew aside the curtain that divided the tent.

"I am only going to prepare your breakfast."

He did as she had requested, and retired to the second apartment of the tent, to patiently await Butheita's return. There he sat absorbed in thought, seemingly forgetful that he was the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, and a captive, for a happy smile rested on his lips.

His thoughts were beyond the sea, in the distant Cavalla. Whom did he see there? It seems to him that Masa, stands before him with her large soft eyes, and sweet smile; and Masa's image is strangely interwoven with that of the Bedouin-child, Butheita. The two fair forms were blended, and it did not displease him. Yet another face is there. It regards him with a grave yet kindly expression. It is not the face of a young girl; sweet and youthful fresh ness and love are not in its features, and yet it is a loved face, that of his wife Ada, the mother of his children. No, he has not forgotten her!

How could it be possible after living side by side in peace and harmony for almost ten years! How could it be possible to forget her who had given him three loved lives? Ah, his beloved boys, how his heart yearns after them! Yet his heart yearns for her too, for his wife.

For almost ten years this quiet-loving woman has sat by his side, and he will never put her away from him, never for get her, the mother of his children. Years pass rapidly, but a man's heart does not grow old. A man's heart is ever young, ever fresh for a new love, and every love seems to him to be the first.

If Butheita were not the daughter of a Bedouin chieftain, but a Georgian or Circassian slave, he would give for her all the riches he possesses ; the beautiful house and furniture given him by Cousrouf Pacha. He would make her his wife, cost what it might. "I thank you, O Mohammed, thou great prophet, who, reading the heart of man, allows him to have four wives. I would Butheita were my second wife."

The curtain of the tent is drawn aside, and Butheita enters, a wooden waiter in her hand. All that she has to set before her guest, the beautiful dates and bananas, the black bread, the butter, all are nicely arranged on the waiter, which she now smilingly deposits at the feet of her guest.

"Now seat yourself on the mat, beloved guest, and refresh yourself with what poor Butheita has to offer you. Pray take the bread and break it; and let us eat it together in token that we are friends, and that you are sacred to me."

"And you are sacred to me," replies Mohammed, gravely, as he takes up the black bread and breaks it. Together they eat of it, and then sit down beside each other, and refresh themselves with Butheita's daintily arranged fruits and goat's milk. Butheita tells him in her charming way of her housekeeping, of her sheep and goats, and how glad they were when she returned.

Mohammed has forgotten his ambitious plans, all the thousand wishes that agitated his heart at other times. For the moment he is once more the boy of Cavalla, communing with Nature in innocence and joyousness, for to him Butheita's fair form now represents Nature.

It is not indeed Nature itself that charms him, but Nature's fair daughter, Butheita. He must and will resist the charm, for he has now broken bread, and eaten fruit with her. He is her guest, and he must hold his young hostess sacred.

He forces himself to assume a grave manner, and directs his thoughts to turn from her fair presence and occupy themselves with the events that have taken place, and the great wrong done him. Perhaps at this moment a battle is raging on the plain of Damanbour, and Youssouf Bey is perhaps Victorious over the Mamelukes. What will his fate be in that case? will not the defeated enemy avenge themselves cruelly on him? But if, on the other hand, Youssouf has been routed and put to flight, then woe to you alike, Mohammed! Youssouf will then complain of him to Cousrouf Pacha, and he will be accused of treason-yes, of treason, if he does not confess that he is a prisoner. But, if he confesses this, he will become the laughing- stock of the whole army. Yes, in Butheita's presence all that was painful and disagreeable in his position had been forgotten. Now he endeavors to force his thoughts to consider these things. Away with thoughts of thee, Queen of the Desert!