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Updated: May 19, 2025
"You, Philip," resumed the priest, "have changed your religion to win a woman whom you love; and you, Marie, have changed yours because the man you love bade you. Neither of you knows anything of the faith you have adopted. I have had no chance to instruct you; but one thing I declare to you, the Christian religion tolerates but one husband and one wife." Nicha rose, pale, hesitating.
"To make his contract good," she continued, "Ilderhim, my former husband, pays sixteen or seventeen ounces' freight on the girl and her maid. The girl turns Christian. Who loses the freight?" "I," said Abdullah, and he placed another bag upon the table. "Take it," said Mirza, and the oukil grasped it. "Let us see this girl who has kept us all up so late," said Mirza, and she strode over to Nicha.
There is something in your face that reminds me of the face I used to see in my glass, but when one grows old, and I am eight-and-twenty, one is sure to see resemblances that do not exist. How prettily they have dressed you! Did Ilderhim, your father, give you these silks and these emeralds?" "Yes," said Nicha.
"Little one," she said, "the life you would have lived with me would not have been so hard when one remembers what the life of woman is, at best. It is to amuse, to serve, to obey. You are too young to understand. You are, perhaps, fourteen?" "Yes," said Nicha. "When I was fourteen," said Mirza, "I too was beautiful; at least my husband and my mirror told me so.
"Doubtless," answered the priest. "God help them," said Abdullah; "have they not trouble enough, without souls to save?" The two men sat silent in the darkness. The door creaked, a line of light appeared; the door swung wide out, and on the threshold stood Nicha, the taper in her hand. The two men sat silent, gazing.
"I was baptized 'Fathma," she said, smiling. "Doubtless," said Abdullah; "since all women are named for the mother of the Prophet; but what is your other name, your house name?" "Nicha," she answered; "do you like it?" "Yes," he said, "I like it." "I like 'beloved' better," said the girl. "You shall hear it to your heart's content," said Abdullah.
In an hour the girl whispered, "Abdullah?" He was at her lips. "Why are we waiting?" she asked. "Because I was tired," he answered. "Are you rested?" she asked. "Yes," he answered. "Then let us go on," she said. They rode on, hope sustaining Abdullah, and love sustaining Nicha, for she knew nothing but love.
"I do not know his name," answered Abdullah; "he was a camel-driver of the Sahara." "And your mother?" asked the lawyer. "How can one, born as I, know his mother?" replied Abdullah. "And you," said the lawyer, turning to Nicha, "who is your father?" "Ilderhim of El Merb," she answered. "And your mother?" asked the lawyer. "She died before I can remember."
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