'And yet you have a good cause, for they say that to-night the earth is to be delivered of a great malefactor, a certain Persian, whose name is perhaps Hassan, a notorious robber.' Khaled turned away his head, smiling bitterly, for he desired not to see the satisfaction which would come into her face. 'This is a poor jest,' she answered in a low voice, and the barbat rolled from her knees to the carpet beside her. 'I mean no jesting, for I do not desire to disappoint you, since you will naturally be glad to be freed from me. But I am glad if you are willing to sing to me, for this night is very long.' 'Do you think that I believe this of you?' asked Zehowah, after some time. 'You believed it yesterday, you believe it to-day, and you will believe it to-morrow when you are free to make choice of some other man--whom you will doubtless love.' 'Yet I know that it is not true,' she said suddenly. 'It is too late,' Khaled answered. 'The more I love you, the more I see how little faith you have in me--and the less faith can I put in you. Will you sing to me again?' 'This is very cruel and bitter.' Zehowah sighed and looked at him. 'Will you sing to me again, Zehowah?' he repeated. 'I like your sad music.' Then she took up the barbat from the carpet, but though she struck a chord she could not go on and her hand lay idle upon the strings, and her voice was still. 'You are perhaps tired,' said Khaled after some time. 'Then lay aside the instrument and sleep.' He composed himself in his seat, his sword being ready and his eyes towards the door. But Zehowah shook her head as though awaking from a dream, her fingers ran swiftly over the strings and gentle tones came from her lips. Khaled listened thoughtfully to the song and the words soothed him, but before she had reached the end, she stopped suddenly. 'Why do you not finish it?' he asked. 'If you have told me truth,' she answered, 'this is no time for singing and music. But if not, why should I labour to amuse you, as though I were a slave? I will call one of the women who has a sweet voice and a good memory. She will sing you a kasid which will last till morning.' 'You are wrong,' said Khaled. 'There is no reason in what you say.' But he reflected upon her nature, while he spoke. 'Surely,' he thought, 'there is nothing in the world so contradictory as a woman. I ask of her a song and she is silent. I bid her rest, supposing her to be weary, and she sings to me. If I tell her that I hate her she will perhaps answer that she loves me. Min Allah! Let us see.' 'You inspire hatred in me,' he said aloud, after a few moments. At this Zehowah was very much astonished, and she again let the barbat fall from her knees. 'You wished me to believe that you loved me, and this not long since,' she answered. 'It may be so. I did not know you then.'