Meanwhile Ishmael, raving against the Christians who were corrupting Mohammedans while he was lying helpless in his prison, fell into a fever, and the Greek mistress of Adila, hearing who had been meant for her handmaiden, and fearing the girl might think too much of herself, began to taunt and mock her. "They told you he was rich, didn’t they?" said the widow. "Well, he has no bread but what the Government gives him, and he is in chains and he is dying, and you would only have had to nurse him and bury him. That’s all the husband you would have got, my girl, so perhaps you are better off where you are." But the widow’s taunting went wide, for as soon as Adila had heard her out she went across to the Mohammedan court-house and said— "Why didn’t you tell me it was Ishmael Ameer you meant?" The Sheikhs answered with a show of shame that they had intended to do so eventually, and if they had not done so at first it was only out of fear of frightening her. "He’s sick and in chains, isn’t he?" said Adila. They admitted that it was true. "He may never come out of prison alive—isn’t that so?" They could not deny it. "Then I want to marry him," said Adila. "What a strange girl you are!" said the Sheikhs, but without more ado the contract was made while Ishmael was so sick that he knew little about it, the marriage document was drawn up in his name, Adila signed it, half her dowry was paid to her, and she promptly gave the money to the poor. Next day Ishmael was tossing on his angerib in the mud hut which served for his cell when he saw his Soudanese guard come in, followed by four women, and the first of them was Adila, carrying a basket full of cakes such as are made in that country for a marriage festival. One moment she stood over him as he lay on his bed with what seemed to be the dews of death on his forehead, and then putting her basket on the ground she slipped to her knees by his side and said— "I am Adila. I belong to you now, and have come to take care of you." "Why do you come to me?" he answered. "Go away. I don’t want you." "But we are married, and I am your wife, and I am here to nurse you until you are well," she said. "I shall never be well," he replied. "I am dying and will soon be dead. Why should you waste your life on me, my girl? Go away, and God bless you. Praise to His name!" With that she kissed his hand and her tears fell over it, but after a moment she wiped her eyes, rose to her feet, and turning briskly to the other women she said— "Take your cakes and be off with you—I’m going to stay." *CHAPTER XIV*