“Oh, Silka! you know, if he sees you, he will not look at me again; he will not care.”

Silka smiled a slow, painful smile.

“Do you not see?” she said in a whisper.  “I shall go as you.  Who will know it is not you?  Not Melun.  He will be expecting you! he has never seen me.  I will not betray myself nor you, but this is my condition.  To-morrow I go in your stead to the Sheik; to-night, I go in your stead to Melun.”

Doolga stared at her, barely comprehending.

“But why—­why?” she stammered in return.

“I go to the Sheik in your stead because I love you, and to Melun in your stead because I love him,” replied Silka firmly.

There was a smile in her eyes, but her lips were pale, compressed, and sad.  Doolga gazed at her in silence, both hands clasped tightly now over her swelling breast.  Astonishment, gratitude, mistrust, and jealousy were all struggling together within it for mastery.

“You love Melun too?” she said at last.  “Then why do you not take him?  One glance from you and he is yours.”

“He was yours first,” answered Silka miserably.  “I cannot take him from you.”

“And you will marry the Sheik to save me?”

“Yes,” replied Silka.

Then Doolga fell on her knees and thanked Silka and kissed her, and Doolga’s kisses were very sweet, and while those lips pressed hers Silka forgot everything else in the world.  At last Doolga said in a sudden recrudescence of jealousy: 

“In the grove to-night you will not—­” and the rest was whispered.

“No,” answered Silka; “I am the bride of the Sheik.  You need fear nothing.  But I must see Melun; all my life long I shall feed on your happiness.  There will be nothing else for me.  I shall live on it.  To do this I must have a vision of it before I go, and it will stay by me for ever.”

That afternoon the tent was gay with unrolled silks and scarlet rugs, and coffee stood out in little porcelain cups upon the floor, for the Sheik Ilbrahim had come to the final parley for his bride.  He sat before the coffee-cups on a black goat-skin, the pipe of honour placed beside him.  A grave, quiet man, with kind eyes, but already far on in the winter of life.  Opposite him sat his host, the owner of the tent and father of the girls.  Shrewd-eyed, keen-faced, quietly he did his bargaining.  Earlier in the day the elder girl had laid the plan before him:  herself for Melun, the necklace-seller of Assouan, who owned neither camels nor goats, but would pay well in silver straight from the hands of the tourists; her younger sister for the Sheik, who would give doubtless two more camels for her wonderful beauty.  The father listened placidly.  It was not a bad bargain.

“But,” he answered finally, “why should you not go to the Sheik now for two camels and by and by another will come for your sister and give four camels.  Then shall I have had six for the two of you.”