The giant women were Hamish and Angus,
and it was a great thing to know them, and to be able to explain them to
his father's men from the Zaouia.
He was a handsome little fellow, with a face no darker than old ivory,
and heavily lashed, expressive eyes, like those which looked over the
marabout's mask. His dress was that of a miniature man; a white silk
burnous, embroidered with gold, over a pale blue vest, stitched in many
colours; a splendid red cloak, whose embroidery of stiff gold stood out
like a bas-relief; a turban and chechia of thin white muslin; and
red-legged boots finer than those of the Spahis. Though he was but
eleven years old, and had travelled hard for days, he sat his horse with
a princely air, worthy the son of a desert potentate; and like a prince
he received the homage of the marabout's men who rushed to him with
guttural cries, kissing the toes of his boots, in their short stirrups,
and fighting for an end of his cloak to touch with their lips. He did
not know that he had been "kidnapped." His impression was that he had
deigned to favour a rather agreeable Roumi with his company. Now he was
returning to his own people, and would bid his Roumi friend good-bye
with the cordiality of one gentleman to another, though with a certain
royal condescension fitted to the difference in their positions.
Nevill was in wild spirits, though pale with heat and fatigue. He had
nothing to say of himself, but much of his aunt and of the boy Mohammed.
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