Waterbury Democrat., 1902-12-11

brducQ on the sand, but 1 heeQeQ nOG. Far away now was the trail of the car avan, like scar on the bosom of the desert, and our own track a pitiful, wavering line that bent to the west. l cursed the woman that she would not let me alone, but my weak rebel lion was as nothing to her will, so I stumbled on and the daughter of the Wahha bis held me up till it was dawn. Then we rested.
 All day she sat by me, while the air quiyered with heat and the light dag zled the eye. All day she sat between me and the sun, holding her garment as an awning over my face, and moist ening my lips with water from the gem zimiyah. Dates, too, she compelled me to eat; yet herself tasted neither date nor so much as drop of water, lest there should not be enough. I saw her face: Lustrous eyes, black as midnight and a mouth that the li- sam would not hide. Beneath the linen l could see the tenderness of it's smile. I almost forgot that she was the daughter of my enemies. Slowly my strength returned, as if it flowed from her life into mine, till at the evening hour of prayer was able to kneel unaided and repeat the words that the prophet teaches.
 She had the courage and strength that her people never lack. She was bred in the mountains, used to climb ing the steeps with the water jar on her head, or herding her fathers hocks, yet she was comely and pleas ant to look upon, one in thousand for grace.
 Still spoke not to her, for was she not of the Wahabis? It would be sin to bless her, and curse her I.could not.
 Again night, and we journeyed west. Still stumbled, and still the woman held me up. Yet her step, it seemed, was less strong, and l saw in the moon light that her face had grown drawn and weary.
 In the dawn I heard her whisper: Courage, I smell the lime treesn !. Then I felt that she tottered, and together we sank upon the sand; yet even then she tried to lift my head, and poured between my lips the last drop of water. I crawIed on, alone, and reached the Wady Laymum, and heard the tinkle of the water and smelt the fragrance of the Times.
 But in the green Wady there was no soul but me. The woman lay out there in the desert, and the Wady was 1one- Tier than the desert. Icursed the fever and the greed of thirst that had made me push on unmindful that was alone. Like the rush of the wind my man. hood came back to me. Gathering my hands full of lines, went back to where she lay. Her lips could utter no word, but her eyes-Allah! did ever eyes show such wonder of joy?
 laid her in the shade of the lines. by the pool. She drank Of the water, and the cool sour of the fruit revived her.
 There were roses blooming by the water, and a wild melon that climbed about the trunk of pomegranate made screen like curtain where the woman rested. Her name was that of the prophets daughter, our lady Fat imah.
 I strayed down by the stream, seeing the birds ice from me, and stopping to gather the dates that had fallen in the grove. The cry of the bittern sounded so sorrowful that it made my heart ache, and crept back to where Fati- nah lay.
 Her face lit gloriously when I spoke to her.
 .Why did you give your strength for mine? Why did you, of all the cara van, take pity to help me ?'' asked.
 Tive years ago. she answered, smiling, yet speaking slowly and barely above whisper, five years ago came with my father, a child, to Alex andria. Five years ago-and you were there, though you remember me not. How could you remember the Wahhabi girl you saved from the stick of the camel driver? You forgot in an hour, but never forgot. Till saw your face | in the caravan four days ago I had not hoped ever to see it again, yet never for a moment had forgotten it.' She stopped, too weak for further speech, but her eyes frightened with smile that was the dawn that breaks over the holy oity. She did not try even to veil her secret.
 l o, wonderful heart of woman! Who that lives can fathom it's depths of tenderness, or measure it's heights of sacrifice? Who can bound it, or de- scribe it, or explain it? It's love is born of a word, movement of kindness, a glamour; and is immortal as the stars and mightier than deathI
 When night came again and the moon struggled to pierce the screen of the melon vine that yelled Fatimah's rest l ing place, her voice was silent and her eyes were closed. All night long lay upon my face on the ground, mourning for the daughter of my enemies, the woman of the Wahhabis, whom love ! had slain.
 Ther in the morning dug a grave under the lime trees and laid her there l and made long lamentation. And there my heart lies, with Fatimah l Then the Haji Al Sheriff hid his face in his hands and bowed his head, and knew he forgot that I had heard the story that is written here.--N. Y. Post.
 Kansas as Territory.
 When Kansas was first organized as