"And now shall your weary form rest a while, while I give praise to Allah, whose prophet is Mohammed." Grumbling, the three animals subsided. "Is all well with you?" The girl nodded as she stumbled from her seat and stretched herself full length upon the sands, the convulsive twitching of her cramped limbs giving way at last to the peace of oblivion. "Will you forgive me if I leave you in your stress, for behold, the hour of Namaz waits neither for weariness or joy, nay, nor even death." But Jill heard nothing, neither his light footfall as he moved some yards from the unclean Christian whom he loved, and placing his prayer-rug upon the ground turned towards Mecca, which in Islam is called Keblah, which, being translated, means "centre"; nor the splashing of water as he washed three times his nostrils, his mouth, and hands and arms to the elbow, the right first as ordained, then head and neck, and ears once and feet once, whilst murmuring a prescribed form of words, these words being repeated in different positions, standing erect or sitting, with inclinations of the head and body, and prostrations in which the Arab in all humility touched the ground with his forehead. For Hahmed was a true Mohammedan, carrying out the precepts of his religion as laid down by the Koran as fully and conscientiously as is within the power of man. But, you will say, he was voluntarily consorting with a Christian, who, by the edicts of the Koran, is considered unclean, inviting pollution by touching the bare skin of her hands and feet. True! but the man was no evil liver, picking up to throw away, buying to regret the purchase within the hour, attracted by this pretty face or that lovely form. Nay. He loved the girl as it is unhappily given on this earth for but few women to be so loved, and with all the strength of his will he intended the outcome of this love to be one more triumph to the glory of Allah. As for the pollution of her satin skin, did he not murmur the prayer of purification when in contact with it? Neither did Jill notice that the man, his purification and his prayers ended, had come over to her, standing gazing down at the almost tragic picture she made out-stretched on the sands. Her death-white face was buried in the curve of one folded arm, the other, flung out, lay with the palm of the hand uppermost. The little feet were crossed under the crumpled skirt, from which peeped the folds of her last white silk petticoat. "Poor little bird," he murmured, as the sense of mastership rose strong within him at the sight of the helpless child at his feet. "So weary, so beautiful, and so young. Behold, shall a nest be built for thee in which thou shalt rest, shaking off the plumage harmed in thy short passage through life, to appear at last more beautiful than the most glorious bird in Paradise," and bending he touched her gently.