“Is that the Princess?” asked Mr Hicks of the sheikh, looking up at the white figure with involuntary awe. “Nay, it is only her scribe, but she also is a great woman, one in whom is much wisdom, and the Princess is guided by her counsels. The _khawaja_ will see her eyes like the clouds when the snow is falling upon Lebanon, but I who speak to him have seen them black like the sky in a midnight without stars. That is when the Princess is in great straits.” “But what sort of difficulties does the Princess get into?” asked Mr Hicks curiously. The sheikh drew nearer, and spoke confidentially. “There was a time, _Khawaja_, when I with certain of the tribe was escorting the Princess and her women to Sitt Zeynab. On a sudden we beheld a great host riding swiftly against us, with every sign of war. Then I cried out, loudly, and with intent to deceive the women, ‘Lo! it is the Beni Ayub who have heard that we are ruled by a woman, and are coming to swallow us up.’ But when I looked to see the Princess blench, she cried, as the scribe told us, ‘Let us have no bloodshed! I will go and speak with them,’ and beckoning to the scribe, she urged on her horse. But the scribe cried to me, ‘Stop the Princess! If aught befall her, it were better for thee and thy tribe never to have been born,’ and she dashed forward by herself. Then it was that I saw her eyes black as Iblis, but it was not with fear, for she rode straight up to those who came against us, and spoke boldly to them, I holding fast to the Princess’s bridle, although she cursed me and struck at me with her whip. But when the scribe reached the enemy, behold! they were not the Beni Ayub at all, but the rest of our own tribe, come to greet the Princess. And all the tribe said, ‘Lo! the spirit of a man is in these women. It is no shame to be ruled by them,’ and we were content.” “And the ladies--were they content when they twigged your little joke?” asked Mr Hicks. “Nay, the scribe spoke very freely to us all. But who cares for a woman’s tongue?” “It don’t seem to strike you that it was a queer dodge to play tricks of that sort on your Princess, sheikh. Was it just at the beginning of her reign?” The sheikh looked straight at Mr Hicks with blank, expressionless eyes. His burst of confidence was clearly at an end. “This is the door of the house of Sitt Zeynab, and here is the scribe of the Great Princess,” he said. “Peace be upon thee, O lady!” “And upon thee be peace!” replied the veiled woman, in Arabic. “Are the Princess’s letters with thee?” The sheikh took a leather bag from the front of his saddle, where it had excited the unavailing curiosity of his guests throughout the journey, and presented it respectfully.