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Updated: July 28, 2025
Butheita's countenance now wears a serious expression. It seems she has brought solemn thoughts with her from the goddess of the desert, and from time to time she casts a timid glance at the prisoner, who lies bound before her. The dromedary moves on at a uniform speed. Those it is bearing on ward speak but little.
Butheita's heart is oppressed; the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, is thoughtful and grave. Once Butheita raises her arm and points to some towering objects defined sharply against the sky in the distance. "See, stranger, see; those are the grand monuments of our kings, the Pharaohs, the pyramids, and there lies Sakkara, where the graves of the holy oxen are to be seen.
The sun has risen and gilds with its light the lattice-work of the windows, throwing little crimson circles on the mat that covers the floor. Mohammed unties the silken scarf that binds Butheita's feet, and assists her to stand up. He also unties the scarf that binds her hands, and she now stands before him with her face veiled. He gently removes the cuffei from her head.
For the moment he is once more the boy of Cavalla, communing with Nature in innocence and joyousness, for to him Butheita's fair form now represents Nature. It is not indeed Nature itself that charms him, but Nature's fair daughter, Butheita. He must and will resist the charm, for he has now broken bread, and eaten fruit with her. He is her guest, and he must hold his young hostess sacred.
She felt his warm breath on her brown cheek. "Give me a rose! Let me pluck a kiss from your lips!" Butheita's cheeks blushed crimson. She put out her rosy lips, but then suddenly drew back and defended herself vigorously. "Did I not tell you of my promise to my father? No man shall ever kiss me except the one who shall lead me to his tent as his wife. It is well that father is coming.
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