Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/97

She was sixteen years of age. Her small slender body, just budding into the promise of womanhood beneath the thin, fringed, brown and gray striped fustian robe that covered her from her neck to just below her knees, was perfect in every line. Her parted, braided hair was light brown and as smooth as oil, her eyes were gray with intensely black pupils, and her nose straight and short. There was a sweet curve to her upper lip and a quick, smiling lift at the corners.

The smile rippled into low, gurgling laughter when she saw Ebrahim Asif bow deeply before her with clasped hands, as she had seen the men of her village salaam to the Ameer's swashbuckling emissaries.

He straightened up. With unconsciously graceful ease he put his hand on the heavy, carved silver hilt of his sword and looked at her squarely.

And his words, too, were square and clear, yet tinged with a certain reckless, boisterous good humor, a certain swaggering bravado.

"Your name, Crusher of Hearts!"

Again the girl laughed.

"I am Kurjan," she said. "I am the daughter of Yar Zaddiq, Chief of the Red Village, who, it is told, once gave your father a sound beating."

"Then—you know my name?" he rejoined, flushing darkly.

"Evidently, Ebrahim Asif!" came her mocking reply. "The fame of your splendor has traveled many miles, also the tale of how wisely you rule your own people, how you fill their stomachs with khirli fish—how they love you, O great Afghan—"

But, suddenly, she checked the flow of words and turned to go when she saw the man's insolent, black eyes fixed upon her with a calm, uncontrolled expression