And the earth wet with rain!

  A slender Bedouin maid, freely unveiled
  Is dearer to me, dearer to me
  Than harem beauties with henna-stained fingers. 
  My Bedouin maid is slim as the ishkil tree. 
  Dearer to me!

  And the earth wet with rain!

  Black tent, swift white mare, camel of Hejaz blood
  Are dear to me, are dear to me! 
  Dearest is my slim, unveiled one of the desert sands! 
  Dearest to me! 
  Ibla her name is; she blazes like the sun,
  Like the sun at dawn, with hair like midnight shades,
  Oh, dear to me! 
  Paradise is in her eyes; and in her breasts, enchantment. 
  Her body yields like the tamarisk,
  When the soft winds blow over the hills of Nedj! 
  Dearest to me!

  And the earth wet with rain!

[Footnote 1:  W’al arz mablul bi matar. A favorite refrain for songs among the Arabs, to whom rain represents all comforts and delights.]

A little silence followed the ending of the song and the withdrawal of the girls and musicians.  The major seemed disposed to call for an encore, but Janina silenced his forthcoming remarks with a sharp nudge.  All at once, old Bara Miyan removed the amber stem of the water-pipe from his bearded lips and said: 

“Now, White Sheik, thou hast eaten of our humble food, and seen our dancing.  Thou hast heard our song.  Wilt thou also see jugglers, wrestlers, trained apes from Yemen?  Or wilt thou take the kaylulah (siesta)?  Or doth it please thee now to speak of the gifts that my heart offers thee and thine?”

“Let us speak of the gifts, O Bara Miyan,” answered the Master, while Leclair listened intently and all the Arabs gave close heed.  “We have not many hours more to stay in this paradise of thine.  We must be away to our own Feringistan, in our flying house.  Let us speak of the gifts.  But first, I would ask thee something.”

“Speak, in Allah’s name, and it shall be answered thee!”

“The salt is still in thy stomach for us?”

“It is still in my stomach.”

“Thou dost swear that, O Bara Miyan, by a great oath?”

“By the rising of the stars, which is a great oath!”

“And by the greatest oath, the honor of thy women?”

“Yea, Frank, by the honor of my women!  But thou and thine, too, have covenants to keep.”

Old Bara Miyan bent shaggy white brows at the Master, and peered out intently from under the hood of his burnous.  The Master queried: 

“What covenants, great Olema?”

“These:  That no harm shall befall Myzab and the Great Pearl Star and the Black Stone, before thou and thine fly away to the Lands of the Books.  Then, that no blood of our people shall be shed in El Barr, either the city of Jannati Shahr or the plain.  These things thou must understand, O Frank.  If harm befall the sacred relics, or blood be shed, then the salt will depart from my stomach, and we will be kiman,[1] and the thar[2] will be between thine and mine.  I have spoken!”