"You shake your head and promise not to do so, stranger, and I will trust you. I will free your head and lips, but I must first bind you to the saddle, to make sure of you." She unwinds the shawl from her delicate waist, slips it around his body, and binds him securely to the palanquin; she then unties the knot binding the cloth that envelops his head and passes over his mouth. The cloth falls down and Mohammed breathes freer and looks up. It is a clear, starry night, and Butheita's eyes are accustomed to darkness, and see as well at night as in the daytime. She gazes down upon his countenance, and a sunny smile illumines her features. He sees her not; his eyes are still blinded; neither can he speak yet, he can only breathe more freely, and he eagerly inhales the fresh night air. "Handsome is the stranger," said she, in a voice of wondrous sweetness. "Already a sarechsme, and still so young! I supposed my father had brought me an old gray-beard, and it had distressed me to torment you so, and now I see a strong young hero, and I feel doubly distressed at your being the prisoner of a poor girl." He looks up, and now he sees the fair face with its starlike eyes sparkling down upon him. The night is clear, and the yellow sand whirled aloft by the camel's feet imparts a golden lustre to the atmosphere; the appearance of the horizon also announces that the rosy dawn is about to contend with the starry night. Mohammed sees the lovely countenance with its brown tint, and its large black eyes and crimson lips, disclosing, as they now smile, her pearly teeth. "Pity me not, Butheita," murmured he. "To be the prisoner of a man would put the sarechsme to shame; but to be the prisoner of a houri of paradise, who holds him in sweet captivity, is, it seems to me, an enviable lot." "You speak prettily, O stranger," said she, her countenance beaming with delight. "Your words come like music from your lips; such sweet words I never heard before. You speak as the scha-er sings, whom I once heard when with my father in Tantah. Oh, speak on, sing on, for songs round from your lips!" "If my words are songs, yours are tones of the harp," murmured he. "Oh, tell me, Butheita, where are we going? Who has commanded you to bear me away thus?" "Did you not hear? I obey the commands of my father, who is in Osman Bey's service. I do not know what they want of you, yet I believe they fear you, and wish to keep you from taking part in the great battle to-morrow. Yes, I know they fear you, for you are a hero. Now, I know how a hero must look, for you are a hero, and your eyes are as mighty as a host of armed warriors. Oh, now I understand why Osman Bey fears you, and why he offered my father so rich a reward to keep you from taking part in to-morrow's battle."