A faint breath of perfume reached me—­of a perfume which, like the secret incense of Ancient Egypt, seemed to assail my soul.  The glamour of the Orient was in that subtle essence; and I only knew one woman who used it.  I bent over the kneeling figure.

“Good morning,” I said; “can I assist you in any way?”

She came to her feet like a startled deer, and flung away from me with the lithe movement of some Eastern dancing girl.

Now came the sun, and its heralding rays struck sparks from the jewels upon the white fingers of this woman who wore the garments of a mendicant.  My heart gave a great leap.  It was with difficulty that I controlled my voice.

“There is no cause for alarm,” I added.

She stood watching me; even through the coarse veil I could see how her eyes glittered.  I stooped and picked up the net.

“Oh!” The whispered word was scarcely audible, but it was enough; I doubted no longer.

“This is a net for bird snaring,” I said.  “What strange bird are you seeking—­Karamaneh?”

With a passionate gesture Karamaneh snatched off the veil, and with it the ugly black hat.  The cloud of wonderful, intractable hair came rumpling about her face, and her glorious eyes blazed out upon me.  How beautiful they were, with the dark beauty of an Egyptian night; how often had they looked into mine in dreams!

To labor against a ceaseless yearning for a woman whom one knows, upon evidence that none but a fool might reject, to be worthless—­evil; is there any torture to which the soul of man is subject, more pitiless?  Yet this was my lot, for what past sins assigned to me I was unable to conjecture; and this was the woman, this lovely slave of a monster, this creature of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

“I suppose you will declare that you do not know me!” I said harshly.

Her lips trembled, but she made no reply.

“It is very convenient to forget, sometimes,” I ran on bitterly, then checked myself; for I knew that my words were prompted by a feckless desire to hear her defense, by a fool’s hope that it might be an acceptable one.

I looked again at the net contrivance in my hand; it had a strong spring fitted to it and a line attached.  Quite obviously it was intended for snaring.

“What were you about to do?” I demanded sharply—­but in my heart, poor fool that I was, I found admiration for the exquisite arch of Karamaneh’s lips, and reproach because they were so tremulous.

She spoke then.

“Dr. Petrie—­”

“Well?”

“You seem to be—­angry with me, not so much because of what I do, as because I do not remember you.  Yet—­”

“Kindly do not revert to the matter,” I interrupted.  “You have chosen, very conveniently, to forget that once we were friends.  Please yourself.  But answer my question.”

She clasped her hands with a sort of wild abandon.