she know of the man outside the eulogies of the dragoman, who for all
she knew might be leagued with him in nefarious schemes.

And yet, no one cared if she lived or died in soul or body. Marry she
would not for years, and years, though of a truth that prospect would
become more and more remote as youth vanished and the waters of her
wealth remained at low tide. But the most irresistible argument in
favour of the mad idea was that so far she had not had one single real
adventure.

"Allah!" she whispered, clasping her hands involuntarily. "Where is my
path? Show me the way out!"

And even as she unclasped her hands, she heard a faint tinkle of coins
in the well-worn little bag hanging from her wrist.

"Allah has heard!" she murmured to herself, as she fished for a coin.

"Heads I speak--tails I go back to England," she continued, placing the
silver coin on her thumb nail, flipping it into the air, and catching
it on the back of her hand. "Heads. Oh!"

And giving herself no time to think, whilst the soul in her eyes first
frowned and then laughed in glee, she turned and crossed the few yards
covered by the sand which for centuries blown hither and hither had
been waiting to make a carpet for her lovely feet to tread when Allah
in his graciousness should show her the path, which would lead her to
the way out.