CHAPTER XX.
“WHERE IS GIRZILLA?”
“I spoke of Girzilla,” exclaimed Ibrahim, proudly.
“And who is Girzilla?” asked Mohammed, his nostril quivering like that of a horse who scents the battle.
“The best, the dearest, the most lovely girl on earth, and there she stands.”
“You are mad. That is my wife, and has been for eighteen years. Thrice has she been with me to the prophet’s shrine at Mecca, but never hath she set foot on the deserts of Egypt until now.”
“I’ll not believe it, unless she herself declares it,” said Ibrahim, scornfully.
“Answer, fair wife; have I spoken that which is true?”
“Indeed, my lord and master, it is true, and yet this pasha spoke of Girzilla.”
It was Mohammed’s turn to be surprised, when, a moment later, the wife asked that none but Ibrahim and Mohammed should hear what she had to say.
Loving his wife with a passion foreign to Oriental nature, the Arab chief granted her request, and with Ibrahim entered his tent, followed by the wife unattended.
“My lord and master, great servant of the prophet! Great is Allah!” she commenced. “Wilt thou allow me to unveil, so that this pasha see that I am not the Girzilla he seeketh?”
“My wife, I can deny thee nothing.”
When the veil was removed, Ibrahim stepped back, completely bewildered at the entrancing beauty of the lady.
He felt his heart beat with tumultuous frenzy, his throat was husky, and he could not speak.
It was not until the veil had been replaced that he found himself able to articulate.
“It is Girzilla, and yet—no, my Girzilla differs——”
He was confused.
“Tell me, where is thy Girzilla? What years hath she counted? Is she thy wife?”
“No, would to Allah she were!”
“Who is she, then?”
“Wilt thou allow my friend Max to come here? He it was who brought Girzilla to me.”
Mohammed was interested, but at the same time considerably piqued.
“Would Max want to see his wife unveiled?” the Arab wondered, and was about to refuse when his wife pleaded in her musical Arabian:
“Do, please, let me see this American.”
“Be it as thou wish.”
Ibrahim went out, and shortly returned with the astonished American.
After a short pause, Mohammed asked who was this Girzilla.
“I know not what her name may be,” commenced Max, “but when I asked her by what she should be known, she said, ‘To thee I will be Girzilla.’”
“It is the same. Oh, tell me, did she speak of her mother—of her father?”
“She told me her father had Mameluke blood——”
A scream from Mohammed’s wife stopped the conclusion of the sentence.
“It must be our own child,” she said.
“Know ye not that she was called Kalula?” asked Mohammed.
“Even so; but when she could scarcely talk I took her to my room, and bade her remember that whenever she found one she could trust as a brother—one she could love with all the strength of her nature—she should bid him call her Girzilla, which means, in the language of my own land, ‘the true one.’”
“That is it, then, sweet lady,” answered Max, “for she said, ‘Never mind my name, to thee I will be Girzilla.’ I called her Gazelle, but she stopped me and said, ‘No, no; Girzilla.’”
Max told of his adventures, and dwelt lovingly on the way in which he had been rescued by Girzilla.
Every word seemed to bring proof to the lady’s mind that the guide who had been looked upon as the ally of brigands, and one not really to be trusted, was in reality her daughter, the heiress of the great wealth of Mohammed.
“Where is she?” asked the Arab.
“She is with my uncle, Sherif el Habib,” answered Ibrahim.
“Together we will search for her, and she shall guide us.”
“Jewilikins! but this bangs Banagher!” exclaimed Max, when he left the tent in company with Ibrahim.
“I understand not thy idiom,” said Ibrahim, “but if thou meanest we are lucky, then I agree.”
“I meant that it was strange—very strange; some great mystery is here.”
“Yes, Allah hath led us to the side of Girzilla’s mother.”
“Always thinking of her.”
“Always. By night I dream of her, by day she is my only hope and desire.”
“And wouldst thou marry her?”
“Why not? If she is Girzilla, the bandit, she shall be mine; but if she be really the daughter of the great chief, Mohammed, then if he consents she shall be mine also.”
“Infatuated youth!”
Mohammed was impatient to continue the journey, and for an hour he talked with Max and Ibrahim about the river and the volcano.
He formed an idea that the oasis where Sherif el Habib had encamped was to the southwest; whereas Max had been going almost due east.
“Lead, worthy chief,” exclaimed Ibrahim, “and if thou dost but find my Girzilla I care not which way thou goest.”
At sunrise the next day the caravan started, and met with nothing more terrible than the awful expanse of sand until they encamped.
Then it was that a tribe of wandering savages—living like birds of prey upon others—pounced down upon the cavalcade and sought to capture the women and the camels.
Mohammed had been a soldier, and his men were all disciplined.
Hence the savages could do but little.
One of the Arabs was slightly wounded, while three of the savages were killed.
A native had been captured and held as prisoner.
“What shall you do with him?” asked Max.
“Keep him an hour to frighten him and then let him go,” answered the chief.
Ibrahim was attracted to the only article of attire the man wore.
It was a belt, and strangely like the one worn by Girzilla.
The man wore it as a necklet, it being far too small to encircle his waist.
Ibrahim interrogated him, but the man could not, or would not, understand.
One of the Arabs, however, was able to act as interpreter.
“Ask him where he got the belt,” said Ibrahim.
The man was smart and cute, and replied by asking what he would get if he told all he knew.
He was promised his freedom, and then the man’s mouth was opened and his tongue loosened.
He said that his people had met some white men and a girl, and that all had been killed. The belt belonged to the girl, and she was nice.
Ibrahim, horrified at the story, asked what had become of the dead bodies.
The man pointed to his mouth, and then rubbed his abdomen, indicating that the murdered Girzilla and her friends had been eaten.
Ibrahim was so enraged that he forgot his promise.
The man was to have his freedom.
Ibrahim gave it to him in a way the wretch never expected.
In a fit of anger at the revelation made, Ibrahim, with one blow, severed the savage’s head from his body.
The blood ran over the belt, and the Persian sickened at the sight.
Wiping the belt clean, he kissed it many times, for had it not encircled the waist of the one he loved?
When Mohammed heard the story he looked sad, but with the fatalists’ philosophy, he only said:
“If Allah willed it, who am I to repine?”
Later, however, he called Ibrahim and Max to one side and told them that he did not believe the man’s story. He thought he should please them by telling it, and how was he to know that there were people who would be horrified at the idea of murder?
Ibrahim, however, looked on the blackest side, and was fully convinced that his uncle and Girzilla had been converted into juicy steaks or luscious pot roasts, and had served to provide a feast to the tribe of cannibals at whose hands they had fallen.
He was inconsolable, and had it not been for the high spirits of Max, who made Ibrahim smile in spite of his misery, the young Persian might never have lived to inherit his uncle’s great property.
Mohammed was determined to set the matter of Sherif’s fate at rest, and so continued the journey.
It was near the end of the third day that Max went forward to Mohammed and told him that a smoke was rising in the distance, and that it appeared like an encampment.
Mohammed gave orders for two of his most trusty Arabs to ride forward and reconnoiter.
It was so late before any sign of their return was obtained, that Mohammed gave them up for lost.
When, however, a shout proclaimed that the messengers were safe, there was joy in the camp of the Arab chief.
The messengers conveyed two letters, one addressed to the most worthy pasha and illustrious chief, Mohammed, and the other to the worthy Ibrahim.
Both were signed by Sherif el Habib, and each contained the welcome news that Sherif and all the party were well.
Ibrahim and Max were too impatient to await the morning, and after making Mohammed promise to start at sunrise they journeyed forth to meet their friends.
Who can describe the meeting between uncle and nephew? and what pen can convey the faintest idea of the rapture felt and expressed by Girzilla and Ibrahim?
When the excitement of the meeting had subsided, no one thought of returning to rest.
True, all had been roused at midnight, but all were eager to learn of the adventures of the young explorers.
Ibrahim, however, was anxious to find out how Girzilla’s belt had got into the possession of the cannibal, and she admitted that some time before she had lost it while out looking for the return of Ibrahim.
“And didst thou look for my return?” he asked.
“Daily I journeyed forth, and as the weeks passed Uncle Sherif believed that the grave held thee.”
“And if it had?”
“I should have found it if I could and laid down beside thee.”
“Do you then love me so much, Girzilla?”
She made no answer in words, but there was an eloquence in the glance from her dark eyes which told him all he wished to know.
When, some hours later, Mohammed and his caravan arrived, there was a great commotion.
Not a word had been said about Girzilla’s parentage, and Mohammed was shocked to see his daughter going about unveiled.
He recognized her instantly.
The likeness to his wife was so striking that doubt was an impossibility.
Who can picture the happy scene when the mother once more folded her arms around the form of the daughter, only child of her heart and home?
Explanations were made, and a happy family, long disunited, was once more complete.
“I can share in your joy,” said Sherif, “for I love her as a daughter, and she will not leave me.”
“Not leave? Hath the great and illustrious pasha taken her to wife?”
“No, Mohammed, but I ask her for my nephew.”
“She shall accept.”
“If she desires.”
“She must.”
“No, no! let the young folks decide.”
It so happened that those young folks were near enough to overhear the conversation, and Ibrahim stepped forward, a joyous smile on his face.
“We have decided, uncle. Girzilla is mine.”
“Blessings on you both. May Allah shower his great bounties on you!” exclaimed Mohammed, reverently.
And Sherif el Habib prostrated himself on the sacred carpet, and in that humble position, appealed to Allah and his prophet to bless the couple.
After a rest and a discussion as to the best route to take to reach the promised Mahdi, the caravan started.
Mohammed believed that in the neighborhood of Khartoum, or in the district known as the Soudan, the Mahdi would be found.
So pleased was Sherif el Habib with his newfound friend that he agreed to follow him.
Both were religious enthusiasts.
Each believed that he should die happily only after seeing the promised one.
For several days no event of importance occurred.