The Detroit Free Press: 

“No wonder that ‘Three Weeks’ is one of the best sellers.”

+They Were Alone....+

The magic of the desert night had closed about them.  Cairo, friends,—­civilization as she knew it—­were left far behind.  She, an unbeliever, was in the heart of the trackless wastes with a man whose word was more than law.

And yet, he was her slave!

“I shall ask nothing of you until you shall love me,” he promised.  “You shall draw your curtains, and until you call, you shall go undisturbed.”

And she believed him!

Do you want to see luxury beyond your imagination to conjure,—­feel the softness of silks finer than the gossamer web of the spider—­hear the night voices of the throbbing desert, or sway to the jolting of the clanking caravan?

Egypt, Arabia pass before your eyes.  The impatient cursing of the camel men comes to your ears.  Your nostrils quiver in the acrid smoke of the little fires of dung that flare in the darkness when the caravan halts.  The night has shut off prying eyes.  Yashmaks are lowered.  White flesh gleams against burnished bands of gold.  The children of Allah are at home.

And the promise he had given her?... let Joan Conquest, who knows and loves the East, tell you in

+DESERT LOVE+

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+The Macaulay Company+

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_+"I have owned a hundred women!"+_ he answered defiantly.

The girl recoiled as from a blow.  Was this man who paraded his conquests before her the same one who had feasted so freely on her lips that moonlit night in Grand Canary?

She was his prisoner now.  He had stolen her and brought her to his stronghold in the desert.  Her father was also a captive.  Pansy Langham’s life had crashed in ruins about her.  What good were her millions now?  The mask had been removed.  Raoul Le-Breton was the Sultan Casim El Ammeh!—­a Mohammedan!

And yet she wanted no man’s kisses but his.  Love for him consumed her, but race and religion stood between them.

Little did she guess that the Arab had foreseen this minute, that he had trailed her father, Sir George for fifteen years.  The Englishman, a captain at the time, had killed his father.  Casim El Ammeh had not forgotten.  Revenge was his at last!

He had intended having his way with her and then selling her as a slave—­a fate more cruel than a white man could conceive.  But love—­an emotion an Arab scoffs at—­had come to thwart him.  Was he to forego his oath of an eye for an eye, or open the doors of his harem and seek forgetfulness?

Read

+A Son of the Sahara+

+By Louise Gerard+

Who gives you the real thrill of the Great Desert

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