business of the hasheesh had served his ends. To-night, he had come
with his proofs....

"So you see," muttered Tewfick Pasha, "what the devil of a serious
business this is. And how any talk of--of unreadiness--if you were
not amiable, for example, to his cousin when she calls upon
you--might serve to anger him.... And so--"

Significantly his glance met hers. Her eyes fell, stricken. The
color flooded her trembling face. She quivered with confused pain,
with shame for his shame, with terror and fright ... with a hot,
protective compassion that tore at her pride....

She struggled against her dismay, trying for reassuring little words
that would not come. Her heart seemed beating thickly in her throat.

She never knew just what she said, what little broken words of pity,
of understanding, of promise, she achieved. But her father suddenly
dropped beside her, with an abandon reminiscent of the _enfant gâté_
of his Paris days, and drew her hands to his lips, kissing their
soft, quiescent palms.... She drew one away and placed it upon his
dark head from which the fez had tumbled.

For the moment she was sorry, as one is sorry for a hurt child. And
her sorriness held her heart warm, in the glow of giving comfort.

She had need of that warmth. For a cold tide was rising in her, a
tide of chill, irresistible foreboding....

For all the years of her life.... For all the years....