If Butheita were not the daughter of a Bedouin chieftain, but a Georgian or Circassian slave, he would give for her all the riches he possesses ; the beautiful house and furniture given him by Cousrouf Pacha. He would make her his wife, cost what it might. "Ithank you, O Mohammed, thou great prophet, who, reading the heart of man, allows him to have four wives. I would Butheita were my second wife."The curtain of the tent is drawn aside, and Butheita enters, a wooden waiter in her hand. All that she has to set before her guest, the beautiful dates and bananas, the black bread, the butter, all are nicely arranged on the waiter, which she now smilingly deposits at the feet of her guest.
"Now seat yourself on the mat, beloved guest, and refresh yourself with what poor Butheita has to offer you. Pray take the bread and break it; and let us eat it together in token that we are friends, and that you are sacred to me.""And you are sacred to me," replies Mohammed, gravely, as he takes up the black bread and breaks it. Together they eat of it, and then sit down beside each other, and refresh themselves with Butheita's daintily arranged fruits and goat's milk. Butheita tells him in her charming way of her housekeeping, of her sheep and goats, and how glad they were when she returned.
Mohammed has forgotten his ambitious plans, all the thousand wishes that agitated his heart at other times. 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.
He forces himself to assume a grave manner, and directs his thoughts to turn from her fair presence and occupy themselves with the events that have taken place, and the great wrong done him. Perhaps at this moment a battle is raging on the plain of Damanbour, and Youssouf Bey is perhaps Victorious over the Mamelukes. What will his fate be in that case? will not the defeated enemy avenge themselves cruelly on him? But if, on the other hand, Youssouf has been routed and put to flight, then woe to you alike, Mohammed! Youssouf will then complain of him to Cousrouf Pacha, and he will be accused of treason-yes, of treason, if he does not confess that he is a prisoner. But, if he confesses this, he will become the laughing-stock of the whole army. Yes, in Butheita's presence all that was painful and disagreeable in his position had been forgotten. Now he endeavors to force his thoughts to consider these things. Away with thoughts of thee, Queen of the Desert!
He rises from the mat, and thanks his hostess for the repast in set phrases, and with a cold manner; he begs her to pay no attention to him, and not to allow herself to be disturbed in her household occupations by him. Butheita looks at him with astonishment-an expression of offended pride in her countenance.
"You desire to be alone, stranger? I can well understand that my foolish words annoy you. I will leave you alone, sarechsme. I see well you are a proud man, and it does not seem proper to you to be alone with a Bedouin's daughter long. I can not prevent it; forgive me. I will attend to my household affairs, as you suggest. I rely on your promise, stranger, not to leave the inner apartment.""You can rely on my word," said he, earnestly. "I am your prisoner, your slave. I am so more completely than you think."A charming smile again lights up her brown countenance. With a joyous nod of her head, she bounds out of the tent.
