woman, there being no other women present in the room. He was surprised when he saw Almasta, though he knew that the captive women had been lodged in the palace, the distribution of the spoil from the war having been put off by the mourning for the Sultan.
When Almasta heard him enter, she looked up quickly and a bright colour rose in her face, as when the juice of a pomegranate is poured into milk, and disappeared again as the false dawn before morning, leaving no trace. Khaled sat down.
'Is not this the woman of whom you spoke?' Zehowah asked. 'I knew her from the rest by her red hair.'
'This is the woman. Your father would have taken her for his wife. But Allah has disposed otherwise.'
'She is beautiful. She is worthy to be a king's wife,' said Zehowah.
'The Sultan?' asked Almasta, for she hardly understood. Her face turned as white as bone bleached by the sun, and her fingers trembled, while her eyes were cast down.
Zehowah looked at Khaled and laughed.
'See how she trembles and turns pale before you,' she said. 'And a little while ago her face was red. You have found a torch wherewith to kindle this lamp, and a breath that can extinguish it.'
'I do not know,' Khaled answered. But he looked
