'She is dreaming.

Ah, poor lady! Our Lord repay her goodness in the next life for all the evil she has borne in this!' 'Is it permissible to ask to hear her story ?' said Rashid.
The old man looked at me with a reluctant smile, as who should say: 'It is a sad tale.

Would you really care to hear it ?' I nodded gravely, and, with a deep sigh, he began: 'Many years ago--how many it is now impossible for me to say, for, dwelling here, I have lost count of time--a certain chieftain of the desert Arabs had a son who loved the daughter of his father's enemy.
There was no intercourse between the houses, but the young prince of whom I speak contrived to see the maiden and to meet her stealthily, even riding in among the dwellings of her people at risk of his own life and mine; for I must tell you that I am his foster-brother, though not by blood a scion of the desert, and so I served him, as was usual with us, in the quality of an esquire.
'Both tribes were of those Arabs which have villages for their headquarters, without renouncing the old life of war and wandering.
Our village was upon the borders of the Belka, and hers far north towards the Hauran.

In those days there were no Turkish military posts beyond the Jordan.

The feuds and customs of the tribes were then the only law; though now, they tell me, that that country is made safe for travel.
'There was no means to bridge the gulf which custom fixed between the lovers; and so my foster-brother, being mad with longing for the maid, decided to abduct her and escape into the settled country.