'Speak not of Besso, the generous and the good, for his head is
strewn with ashes, and his mouth is full of sand.'
'What is this?' thought Amalek. 'Besso is not ill, or his daughter would
not be here. This arrow flies not straight. Does he want to scrape my
piastres? These sons of Israel that dwell in cities will mix their pens
with our spears. I will be obstinate as an Azafeer camel.'
Slaves now entered, bringing coffee and bread, the Sheikh asking
questions as they ate, as to the time Eva quitted Jerusalem, her
halting-places in the desert, whether she had met with any tribes; then
he offered to his granddaughter his own chibouque, which she took
with ceremony, and instantly returned, while they brought her aromatic
nargileh.
Eva scanned the imperturbable countenance of her grandfather: calm,
polite, benignant, she knew the great Sheikh too well to suppose for
a moment that its superficial expression was any indication of his
innermost purpose. Suddenly she said, in a somewhat careless tone, 'And
why is the Lord of the Syrian pastures in this wilderness, that has been
so long accursed?'
The great Sheikh took his pipe from his mouth, and then slowly sent
forth its smoke through his nostrils, a feat of which he was proud.
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