The passengers in the dining room were absorbed in the aria, the rich soprano voice filling the respectful silence. Jazira looked at her empty hand which Frank had just released and willed away the tears in her eyes. She swallowed and summoned her courage as Frank stared at the edge of the table in disbelief. Jazira leaned forward, the candle light flickering across her distraught face. There was a pleading note in her voice as she said,

"Frank. . ."

When the blue eyes devoid of feeling looked into hers, she faltered for only a moment, then began with purpose, "The Arabian in the stall next to your mustang belongs to Mr. Lawrence."

At the mention of that name Frank's hard jaw shifted and a dangerous light flashed across his eyes. Jazira continued, "I went to down there to look for you. . .I had looked all over the ship. I couldn't find you anywhere. . ."

She paused and Frank's eyes dodged hers, but he stubbornly offered no explanation. She picked up the story, "I recognized the stallion. He once belonged to my father." Frank was surprised and looked at her compassionately, but her eyes now avoided his as she continued, "Mr. Lawrence came in, and I asked him how he had known my father. We talked and I asked him had he been to Arabia lately."

Jazira glanced up to see Frank listening intently. She said dramatically, "Frank, he is the British Minister of Foreign Affairs."

Franks lips pursed together, his eyes took on a haughty expression, and he turned his head sharply to the right with a grunt.

Jazira continued resolutely, "Mr. Lawrence told me that he was working to find a way to contact a young English woman in Najd." Frank noticed that Jazira's tone became more enthusiastic as she related the account with growing personal interest. "Her father was a British officer, and the family had camped at the edge of his outpost along the Asir. The young English girl was seventeen years old, very beautiful, and she captured the attention of a young Arab man, Amid al-Rashid. One day she disappeared, and no one knows if the English girl went by choice or if she was taken by force."

Jazira was caught up in the story and she looked shyly up at Frank whose face had softened, his eyes fastened on the vivid expression on Jazira's face. Encouraged she continued, "Recently Mr. Lawrence's office in London discovered which city the English girl is living in, but they have yet to find a way to contact her. The British protectorate does not extend that far, and relations over there are tense."

Jazira interrupted her own story and looked directly at Frank, "Women in my world are treated far differently than those in the West. We have no choices. Men, outsiders, especially foreigners are not allowed into the sanctum. If the English girl was taken by force, there is no one who can hear her to help her, if she was went by choice, perhaps her choice is different now. But her father needs to know." Jazira added in an emphatic whisper, "I need to know."

As Madame de la Roche's fine soprano rose an octave higher, Frank leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table nearly touching Jazira's slender hands. Jazira's voice took on a decisive note that contrasted to the enchanting melody in the background, "I told Mr. Lawrence I would help him, and the English girl's father. Although, I believe they are one in the same. I will go into the city where they know her to be and make the necessary contact for them, but more importantly, for her. And if she wishes, she can escape, like I did."

Frank's head was pounding with pressure and his voice was louder than he meant for it to be as he exclaimed, "Jazira, you don't even know the woman!"

Jazira replied with solidity, "I may not know her, but I know her plight."

Frank saw the conviction on her face, her stubborn will. He recognized it because he understood it, but he didn't agree with it, or with her. Guests at nearby tables turned to look at them. Frank's voice dropped to a urgent whisper,

"Yes, but you can't just walk into Arabia anymore, Princess."

He put deliberate emphasis on the last word and Jazira's eye narrowed as she retorted, "There is no reason for Prince Bin al-Reeh to know I will be in Arabia, he will have no cause to look for me."

Frank's eyes were distressed as he thought to himself, 'hunt for you' would be more precise. Instead he reminded her dramatically, "And who would have thought anyone would recognize you on this ship? Your chances of being discovered at an Arab port like Aden or Jordan is not something I want to gamble with, and I am no gambler."

Jazira balked, "It is not your gamble, Frank Hopkins. It's my life, my choice."

It was a simple statement but it carried the note of finality. Frank's spirit was roused and he said in rejoinder, "We were going to speak to the Captain tonight about sharing our lives and our choices."

Jazira's cheeks flamed, her eyes lowered, "That is why I have already told Mr. Lawrence that I will help him in Arabia. It was my choice." She softened the impact by explaining, "I couldn't have that responsibility unfulfilled hanging over my head on such a special night, such an important night in my life."

Frank was thinking quickly for some way to reach her, to reason her out of her decision, to make her see things differently, but she said, "No amount of personal happiness is worth a person's life."

The words resonated in Frank. He said earnestly, "It's your life I'm concerned about. You're gambling with your very life." He recalled the scene in the cargo hold, Mr. Lawrence's last words to her, and he added in a final effort to dissuade her, "Mr. Lawrence is right when he said meeting you on this ship was no mere accident. Something more is going on here, he's not told you the whole story, Jazira. I tell you, that man is hiding something. Do you want to risk your life for someone who cannot even tell you the truth?"

Jazira looked at Frank in disbelief, feeling like his accusations mocked her, and as an attempt to control her as she had been in her past. Her dark eyes flashed and she challenged him, "Are you saying that I don't know what I'm doing?"

Frank regretted the words that slipped out of his wounded heart as soon as they were out of his mouth, "Well, do you?"

Jazira stood up, even as Madame de la Roche reached the crescendo of her operatta, and said with fire in her voice, "If you question my judgment so much, it's a wonder you asked me to marry you at all."

She spun away in a blaze of crimson, gold silk, and ebony hair and weaved her way through the room and it's occupants. Frank stood up immediately and called after her,

"Jazira!"

His voice was drowned in applause for the performance.