It was good
to turn back at last towards the tents, and see how the camp-fire
crimsoned the star-dusk.
"Thou wert happy alone?" Maieddine questioned her jealously.
"I was not alone."
He understood. "I know. The desert voices spoke to thee, of the desert
mystery which they alone can tell; voices we can hear only by listening
closely."
"That was the thought in my mind. How odd thou shouldst put it into
words."
"Dost thou think it odd? But I am a man of the desert. I held back, for
thee to go alone and hear the voices, knowing they would teach thee to
understand me and my people. I knew, too, that the spirits would be
kind, and say nothing to frighten thee. Besides, thou didst not go to
them quite alone, for thine own white angel walked on thy right hand, as
always."
"Thou makest poetical speeches, Si Maieddine."
"It is no poetry to speak of thy white angel. We believe that each one
of us has a white angel at his right hand, recording his good actions.
But ordinary mortals have also their black angels, keeping to the left,
writing down wicked thoughts and deeds. Hast thou not seen men spitting
to the left, to show despite of their black angels? But because thy soul
is never soiled by sinful thoughts, there was no need for a black angel,
and whilst thou wert still a child, Allah discharged him of his
mission."
"And thou, Si Maieddine, dost thou think, truly, that a black angel
walks ever at thy left side?"
"I fear so.
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