"He was blessed as a foal by having
the magical words 'Bissem Allah' whispered over him as he drew the first
draught of his mother's milk. But thou wilt endow him with new gifts if
thou touchest his forehead with thy hand. Wilt thou do that, for his
sake, and for mine?"
Victoria patted the flesh-coloured star on the stallion's white face,
not knowing that, if a girl's fingers lie between the eyes of an Arab's
horse, it is as much as to say that she is ready to ride with him to the
world's end. But Maieddine knew, and the thought warmed his blood. He
was superstitious, like all Arabs, and he had wanted a sign of success.
Now he had it. He longed to kiss the little fingers as they rested on El
Biod's forehead, but he said to himself, "Patience; it will not be long
before I kiss her lips."
"El Biod is my citadel," he smiled to her. "Thou knowest we have the
same word for horse and citadel in Arabic? And that is because a brave
stallion is a warrior's citadel, built on the wind, a rampart between
him and the enemy. And we think the angels gave a horse the same heart
as a man, that he might be our friend as well as servant, and carry us
on his back to Paradise. Whether that is true or not, to-day El Biod and
I are already on the threshold of Paradise, because we are thy guides,
thy guardians through the desert which we love."
As he made this speech, Maieddine watched the girl's face anxiously, to
see whether she would resent the implication, but she only smiled in her
frank way, knowing the Arab language to be largely the language of
compliment; and he was encouraged.
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