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Robin raised his head, and saw with surprise that he was not alone.
A high cap added to the Persian's appearance of lofty stature. His dress was rich, but of less gaudy colours than Persians usually affect, and a silver-hilted sword, a sign of rank, hung by the Amir's side. To Robin's surprise, he was addressed in his own tongue, which the stranger spoke with tolerable correctness, though slowly and with Oriental accent.
"You are an Englishman," said the Amir; "how came you hither?" The voice of Ali was low and rich.
Robin rose to his feet to reply. "I and my party were seized by Bedouins yesterday," he said. "She," glancing at the body, "fell ill, so was left behind."
"And you?"
"Of course I stayed to help her."
"A mother has claims," said Ali in a low tone of voice; "no doubt the lady is your mother?"
Robin shook his head in reply.
"Then a near relation?"
"No; a few weeks ago I did not know that there was such a being in the world."
"What, then, was the tie which made you willing to throw away life for her sake?"
"Christian love," replied Robin faintly. "Oh, sir, if you have any mercy, give me a draught of water, and bid your people finish this grave."
"Hassan, give orders at once," said the Amir, turning towards a Persian, lower in stature than himself, but almost as handsomely dressed. "Bid the slaves bring sherbet, fruit, and other refreshment, this gentleman has evidently not wetted his lips for many hours."
Robin did not understand the language in which these directions were given, but he soon benefited by their effect. He seemed to draw in new life with the cool, copious, delicious draught, proffered to him in a silver goblet. While he partook of food, some of the Amir's slaves with ease completed what had been to the weary youth an almost hopeless task.
Robin, after reverentially raising to his lips the cold hand of the corpse, and then laying a white handkerchief over the lady's sweet face, was able, unaided by Mahomedan hands, to place Mrs. Evendale's slight form in its shallow grave. The youth was loath to leave the spot, now to him sacred, without even a prayer or a text from Holy Writ. Robin therefore repeated in English a few verses from that glorious chapter which tells the Christian of victory over death, and the hope of a bright resurrection. Clasping his hands, the English lad thanked God that his dear friend's soul had been called to bliss, and that the precious seed now sown in weakness would rise to eternal life. Then Robin, rising from his knees, left others to fill up the grave, and slowly turned away.
"You are not like other European Christians,—I have seen many," said Ali in the English tongue. "They are a selfish race; they speak of a religion of love, but you are the first one whom I have ever met with who would risk starvation for the sake of any one merely for being of a kindred faith."
"It was my simple duty," said Robin Hartley; "and it was an honour too," he added, for he felt, and the feeling brought inexpressible pleasure, that he had been permitted to minister to an angel. With less of sadness than of thankfulness Robin looked again on the nameless grave of Grace Evendale. "I should have liked to have made some mark," he said, half aloud; "but God knows where she sleeps; she will awake when the Lord cometh again."
"Are you sure of that?" asked Ali, dryly.
"Quite sure," was Robin's simple reply.
"We must go on our way," said the Amir; "for the sun has power, and we have far to ride. Hassan, bid the sais (groom) bring my fleet Firdosi." The order was instantly obeyed, and a beautiful horse, richly caparisoned, was led to the spot.
"He is of the true Nejdean breed," said Ali to Robin; "swift as the antelope, gentle as the lamb." Ali sprang into the saddle, then, turning towards Hassan, said, "Give the Feringhee (European) your black horse; you can ride on the dromedary yonder."
Hassan turned on the interloper, as he deemed Robin to be, such a look of malice and hatred, that young Hartley intuitively felt that he had an enemy in that man.
Robin had not had much experience in riding, but he delighted in the exercise, and was only too glad to mount a spirited horse, instead of resuming his place on the back of a camel. With another parting look at the grave, which would soon be undistinguishable in the waste, Robin rode away from the spot, Amir Ali on his beautiful steed at his side.
"Where are we going?" asked Robin of Ali.
"I am bound for Wyh on the sea-coast," was the reply. "I have been to Medina, and am tired of Arabia."
"I suppose that you have made a pilgrimage to Mahomet's tomb," observed Robin. There was no profound reverence expressed in the Amir's face at the name of his prophet.
"I went there as I went to Bagdad, Egypt, Syria, India, as I shall perhaps one day go to England, in order to—" Ali paused abruptly.
Robin, who was naturally rather talkative, filled up the uncompleted sentence,—"to amuse yourself, I suppose."
"To get away from myself," was the bitter reply. "English boy, have you never known what it is to wish to do so?"
"Never," said Robin Hartley.
"Have you ever found anything really worth living for?" asked the cynical Persian.
"Much worth living for—and dying for too," replied the young Knight of St. John.
The two rode for a short time in silence; we need not inquire into Ali's subjects of thought, Robin's mind was full of his brother.
"Oh, sir," he suddenly exclaimed, "I owe life itself to your kindness, and now I dare entreat you to bestow on me much more. I would be more grateful to you than words can tell, if you would help me to find my brother."
"Where may he be?" asked Ali.
"In the hands of the Bedouin Arabs. He and I, and others, were seized at the same time. The rest of the party went on, I know not whither, when I stayed behind. Oh, is there no means of tracking and overtaking the band?" There was intense earnestness expressed in Robin's pleading look and tone.
"I should have thought that you had had enough of these marauding Bedouins," observed Ali. "Few meet with them with pleasure, or part from them without bloodshed. Are you so fond of danger, young man?"
"I care not for it—if I can only find Harold!" cried Robin.
"Is he so dear to you, then?" said the Persian.
"Surely—is he not my brother?" was Robin's reply.
Something came over the handsome face of the Persian which reminded Robin, he knew not why, of a thunder-cloud darkening the sun. The youth had evidently unwittingly touched some painful chord.
He changed the conversation.
"Is he whom you call Hassan any relative of yours?" asked the English lad.
Ali silently shook his head.
"Probably your friend?" suggested Robin.
"I have no friend," was the stern reply. "Hassan has been my companion, my shadow, for two or three years. Do not you trust him, boy, for he is not to be trusted."
"Then why keep him with you?" asked the incautious Robin. He wished the unguarded words unspoken; it had brought another cloud to the face of his benefactor. "I am always blundering," thought the youth.
Again the Amir and his English companion rode on in silence.
"What a strange comrade God has sent me!" thought Robin. "This handsome fellow is clearly unhappy in his mind; he must be walking in darkness. Lord! Help me to give some light!"
Presently Ali broke into conversation again, for he hated the company of his own thoughts.
"Are you one of those who think that all things are ordered by Divine wisdom?" asked the Amir, not with the manner of one who holds such doctrine himself, but rather with that of a free-thinker who considers no one religion better than another.
"Of course I am," was Robin's reply, "for I am a Christian."
"Christian. Oh! That's what all your countrymen call themselves," said Ali, with a touch of scorn in his manner. "I've seen a good deal of them in India, where I stayed ten months; I've read their books, even seen worship in their mosques—their churches I mean. I allow that your Prophet Isa (Jesus) was a wonderful moral teacher, though His followers seem to make a habit of disobeying His precepts."
"The Lord was much more than a prophet. God's Book tells us that He is the Word of Life. Oh, I wish that my brother were here! He could explain, and I cannot."
"You can answer plain questions," said Ali. "I do not want you to discourse like a moulvie. You can tell me if there was either wisdom or mercy in God's leaving you to die in the desert."
"I think that God had wise and kind purposes," answered Robin, after a minute's reflection.
"What might they be?" asked Ali.
"A good, sweet lady wanted some one to give her a last draught of water."
"But God abandoned her to a horrible death."
"Oh, no, not horrible!" cried Robin, with animation. "I mean to comfort her relatives by telling them that it was as if a bridge had been made of a rainbow, and the Lord whom she loved had gently carried her across in His arms."
"I never saw any one die in that way," said Ali, half incredulously. "Can your ingenuity discover any other advantage ensuing from your misfortune?"
"Without it, I should not have met you," said Robin.
The vanity of the Persian was gratified. "And how do you regard me?" he inquired.
"As my preserver," was the reply.
"Anything besides?" asked the Amir, who had been fed on flattery from his childhood.
"Yes, but I do not wish to tell you my thoughts; you might not like them," said Robin.
"But you must and shall tell them!" cried the Amir, in the tone of one accustomed to command. Robin was to him so different from any one with whom he had ever met before, that the Persian regarded the English youth with curiosity as well as interest. "After so brief an acquaintance what am I in your eyes?" continued Ali.
"I think that, in one way, you are something like what I was before you found me."
"You speak in riddles; explain your meaning," said Ali.
"You are weary and very thirsty, and you know of no water near," Robin spoke slowly; he did not wish to offend. "And I know of a spring—an abundant spring—a Fountain of Life; perhaps God sent you to me that I might tell you where to find it."
"Your comparison is not flattering," said the proud Persian, contracting his brows. "Boy! Do you presume to think me an object of pity?"
Robin could only answer "Yes," for he thought, "No one is more to be pitied than the man who tries to run away from himself."
Young Hartley expected the angry Amir to bid him instantly dismount, but Ali only urged on his own horse as if impatient to reach the next encampment.
That simple "yes" had startled the Persian more than any eloquence could have done. "Is it possible," he said to himself, "that this friendless, helpless, hopeless outcast can afford to look down with compassion on me? Is this boy a prophet that he can read at a glance secret misery hidden in the depths of a stranger's heart!"
Robin, in the Amir's company, travelled far more comfortably than he had done with the Shararat Bedouin Arabs. Persians know something of cookery, and indulge in the luxury of tea; while Arabs prefer the delicious coffee which their country supplies. Robin could choose between the two refreshing beverages. His need of change of garments was supplied by the generous Persian, and Robin, arrayed in an Oriental costume, was far more picturesquely attired than he had ever been before.
But every kindness shown to the kafir (infidel), as Hassan called the Christian, was as gall and wormwood to the soul of the Amir's "shadow." Everything given to the stranger seemed to this man as if taken from himself, and the wily Persian hated the frank Englishman with a deadly hatred. Hassan had picked up some English in India, though not nearly as much as the Amir had done, and he used it as a weapon of annoyance to Robin, who found it hard to keep his temper when thus offered gratuitous provocation.
Hassan, not contented with insulting one who had done him no wrong, used his utmost skill to poison the mind of the Amir against his English companion. But here the clear, crystal-like transparency of Robin's character proved his defence; much might be thrown on it by malice, but malice itself could not make it stick. Ali could not help trusting the English youth who said out frankly and fearlessly whatever he thought.
And often did Ali ponder over the words which had made him angry when they were uttered: "You are weary and very thirsty, and you know of no water near; perhaps God sent you to me that I might tell you where to find it."
A NIGHT ATTACK.
A FEW days were passed in journeying through the desert, whose dreariness was occasionally broken by an oasis, where water was found, and where the party could gather the red berries of the samh, while the camels cropped the delicate green twigs of the ghada, which form a graceful feathery tuft. Here the Persian travellers would linger for many hours, smoking, lounging on the scanty grass, eating fruit, telling stories, and reciting poems.
"Can you recite anything?" Ali once asked young Hartley.
"Not in Persian. I know nothing of that or any other Oriental tongue save scraps of Urdu; but I have learned by heart a good deal in English."
"That will serve," said Ali, who prided himself not a little on his knowledge of the European tongue. "Repeat to me and Hassan, who knows something of English, the finest thing which you know in the language."
The Persians, seated on carpets, smoked their narghillahs, as Robin, without hesitation or comment, repeated part of the opening chapter of the First Epistle of St. John.
Ali listened in grave silence, Hassan with undisguised impatience and aversion. "May the bones of his fathers be defiled who utters such heresies!" he exclaimed; then rising angrily, and spitting in token of disgust, the Persian walked away.
Ali pushed his own narghillah aside.
"Do you really believe, O Feringhee," he cried, "that the blood of your Prophet purifieth from sin?"
"The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanseth from all sin—the Word declares it," was Robin's reply.
Ali shook his head sadly. "Not all—it cannot be," he murmured.
"God hath said it; His Word is true, though all the world should deny it!" cried Robin boldly. "But," he added gravely, "the promise is to those who walk in the light, and have fellowship one with another."
"What is it to 'walk in the light'?" asked Ali.
"To walk with God, love Him and His people," replied the Knight of St. John.
"Perhaps you do so," said Ali, gloomily; "but there are some who neither can nor will so walk in the light. And there are stains which no blood could remove, even were your religion a true one."
"I know not of any such stains," quoth 'Robin.
"Suppose now—just suppose—that a murderer sought pardon from God, could he find it?" asked the Amir.
"David, who committed murder, found grace," replied Robin. "He repented, and though he was punished on earth, we know that he was washed white in atoning blood."
"There you are wrong," said Ali, quickly; "Hasrat David died long before your Prophet was born."
"But not before He existed," said Robin; and reverentially, he added, "Christ's sacrifice was for all the world; it saved believers who lived before His first coming, as well as those who now live before His second coming. The light from the Cross shines all around, behind as well as before."
"You think that even murderers may be saved," said Ali; "but there are different degrees of murder. A man slays his foe in open fight—that is fair; or by stratagem—perhaps stealing on him in his sleep. There may, as you say, be forgiveness for that."
"For the soul, though the body should be punished," said Robin.
"But if the blood on the murderer's hand were not that of an enemy but of a brother?" asked Ali, his face growing livid as he uttered the question.
"I cannot answer such things!" cried Robin, with a look of pain; he could hardly realise the possibility of any one committing the horrible crime of fratricide. "I can only repeat what stands in the Bible: The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin."
Ali turned gloomily away.
It was decided that the Persians should remain in their present place of encampment till two hours before dawn, when the journey should be resumed during the comparative coolness of night. The travellers, in a semi-circle, slept near the tent, not far from their camels, except Hassan, whose turn it was to keep watch. Saddles were used as pillows, the horses themselves being tethered near their riders. Soon most profound stillness reigned around, scarcely broken by an occasional grunt from a camel, or snort from a steed.
But the stillness was not to last long. Robin was startled from a delicious dream of home by sudden yelling and shouting, the clash of weapons, and the cry, "The Bedouins! The Bedouins are upon us!" All was confusion and uproar. Recumbent camels rose to their feet, frightened horses plunged and reared; some men stumbled over tent-pegs in the darkness, some hastily snatched up such weapons as might be at hand. None knew the number of the enemy, who, tempted by hope of rich spoil, had, like wolves, stolen upon them in the night.
"In for an adventure!" thought our Knight of St. John, catching up a staff which lay on the ground.
Robin dashed towards the spot where the struggle seemed to be the hottest; he could only judge by the noise, for the stars, brilliant as they were, gave very ineffectual light. There was just enough to enable Robin to distinguish Ali, bareheaded—for his high cap had been knocked off—struggling on the ground with two Bedouin Arabs. It was a struggle for life. One Arab had got the Amir down and was grasping his throat, the other was brandishing a formidable knife which he was about to plunge into the Persian's breast. The struggle would have been as short as it was desperate, had not Robin dealt such a heavy blow on the head of the man who was grasping Ali's throat that the Arab's hold relaxed, and he fell to the ground.
The Amir thus freed, attempted to rise, but the knife of the second man would have been in his heart but for Robin's interposed arm—it was the left one—which was pierced through by the Bedouin's steel. Before the Arab could draw it back, he was laid in the dust by Ali, who had sprung to his feet. The whole fight was over in a few minutes; the Arabs, who had not expected so stout a resistance, fled, leaving two of their number dead on the ground, and the one whom Robin had struck down, who vainly attempted to get up and follow his comrades.
"Kill the dog! Hew him to pieces!" cried Hassan, who, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, now hurried to the spot.
"Don't hit a fellow when he's down!" exclaimed Robin, with an impulse of pity for the half-clad wretch who could make no resistance.
"You are the friend of our foes, false Kafir!" exclaimed Hassan, and his face looked more savage than ever, seen in the red glare of the torch.
"The English boy is no traitor," said Ali, who was calmly replacing the Persian cap on his own head, looking as little perturbed by his late peril, as if a struggle for life were with him an ordinary thing.
"If you had kept better watch, O Hassan, the Kafir had had no need to strike so hard. The brave boy has saved my life."
The Bedouin was clinging to the knees of Robin, whom he recognised as a protector from the weapons flashing around him. Robin had now an object in view beyond the pleasure of saving a foe, an object so engrossing, that he actually forgot for a while the deep wound in his own arm.
"Oh, sir," he exclaimed to Ali, "ask him—you know his language,—if he can tell us anything of my brother!" It seemed to Robin that on the life of that Bedouin might hang the only clue to the fate of Harold.
"Unhand the wretch; do not slay him," said the Amir sternly to his Persian followers, those who had been most slow to fight, being now the most eager to kill.
"Son of a dog!" he continued, addressing the crouching Arab, "Can you tell us anything of a white man who is in the hands of any of your detestable tribe?"
Ali had to repeat the question, and in a louder tone, before the frightened Bedouin seemed to comprehend it. Then he jabbered something which Robin of course could not understand, though he breathlessly listened.
"Oh! What does he say?" exclaimed young Hartley.
"He says that his band have met with no white man." Robin's heart sank within him, but hope, with him ever at hand, brightened again as the Arab spoke more, and at greater length. Eagerly Robin turned to the Persian for a translation.
"He says that he has heard that another, a kindred, tribe of these Bedouin thieves, have with them an old white woman and a child."
"And a man!" exclaimed Robin. "Surely a man!"
"He says that a tall white man was with them."
Robin could hardly refrain from a shout, but his joy was followed by such giddiness and faintness that he put out his hand and grasped a tent-rope to save himself from falling.
Then first Ali perceived by the torch-light that the youth's sleeve was drenched in blood, while large drops were falling fast to the ground.
"You are wounded!" exclaimed the Amir.
"Nothing—only my arm," was Robin's reply, but he almost swooned as he spoke.
Every care, by Ali's command, was taken of the youth. One of the Amir's followers was a tolerably skilful leech, especially in cases of hurt from bullet or steel. Robin's blood was staunched, his arm bandaged and put in a sling. The wound was not serious, though it had become more painful than it had been at first. Robin, even while his arm was being bound, was anxiously inquiring whether more particulars about the white captives could not be drawn from the Arab. Ali, in this inquiry, had anticipated his wishes.
"The man says that the Shararat Bedouins, with their prisoners, were, he believes, making their way towards Djauf."
"Djauf! Where's that?" cried Robin. He had always had bad marks for geography at school, and, as regarded Oriental names of places, owned himself to be a regular dunce.
"Djauf, in the wadi (valley) of the same name, is a city in North Arabia, lying in the direction of the Syrian desert."
"Is it far from hence?" asked Robin anxiously.
"Very far," answered Hassan in broken English; "ten days of journey; and all way dead camels lie."
"Shorten the number of days by four, and let the camels keep in their legs," cried Ali satirically. "But with all allowance for Hassan's inventive genius, the journey is a difficult one, and not unattended with danger. To undertake it now is not to be thought of."
Robin was silenced for awhile, but a prayer was rising from his heart, "Lord, do Thou help me; enable me to seek and to find my Harold!"
At the command of the Amir, a carpet was spread on the ground for Robin, and cushions were brought from the tent to support his head. A goblet of sherbet was placed at his side, and an attendant gently fanned him. Ali seated himself on the same carpet.
"You saved my life," said the Amir, after some minutes of silence.
"You first saved mine," was Robin's reply.
"But not at the cost of my blood. No one renders such service to Ali without receiving reward. Ask what you will—it is yours; were it the signet from my hand—" he touched a magnificent ring which he wore—"were it even my fleet Firdosi."
"Oh! I do not care for jewels; I do not want horses!" exclaimed Robin, bluntly. "If you wish to show me kindness, take me to Djauf to seek for my brother. He is more to me than all the jewels in the world!"
"You insult my lord grossly by rejecting his gifts," said Hassan. "As for going to Djauf, the idea is worthy only of a madman. We are going to quit Arabia for ever; to my lord the land is hateful. On to Djauf indeed! As well propose to go to Gehannurn."
"Had I but a camel I would go alone!" cried the Knight of St. John.
Ali smiled his own peculiar joyless smile. "I never knew any one so eager as you seem to be to perish in the desert," he observed. But the Persian thought in his heart, "Can it be that there is really such a thing as true disinterested love, such as Christians talk about, and write about, but which I never have met with before?"
"It is time for us to prepare for our start," cried Hassan, "or we shall not reach the sea before nightfall. Is it my lord's pleasure that the camels be loaded?"
"Ay, and let their heads be turned towards Djauf," was the Amir's reply.
Robin uttered an exclamation of gratitude and joy.
"But, my lord," began Hassan in a tone of angry expostulation; but Ali gave him no time to finish his sentence.
"We are going to Djauf," said the Persian, in the tone of one resolved to have his own way.
Hassan left his master's presence, with difficulty suppressing an explosion of anger; no sooner was he beyond Ali's hearing than he swore a deep oath by his Prophet, Hossein, Hassan, Fatima, and all other saints in the Shiah calendar, that neither he nor the Amir, nor the detested white-faced infidel should ever set foot in Djauf.
AN OFFER.
HASSAN did his utmost to prevent the northward journey from being commenced, and he had as many wiles as a fox. Orientals are skilful in making excuses, and are masters in the art of causing delays. But Hassan's master was more than a match for him,—had experimental knowledge of his devices, and cut through every difficulty by his own shrewdness, and the force of his strong will. It almost seemed to Robin as if Ali took pleasure in provoking the jealousy, and disappointing the efforts of his shadow, as we sometimes see a master wantonly teasing the dog which crouches at his feet. It was clear to the English youth that there was no affection between the Amir and Hassan, and Robin wondered why the former did not dismiss from his service one whom he neither liked nor trusted.
In spite of all that was said about camels being sick and horses lame, of provisions running short and mashales growing leaky, the party started on the route leading towards Djauf. Robin felt weak from loss of blood, and his arm gave him pain, but he would have scorned to have let weakness or pain act as an impediment in his search after his brother.
The first stage was long, and seemed doubly tedious from its being a going over ground already trodden. Hassan was by no means the only one of the party to look sulky, for no one liked the prolongation of desert wanderings which had been thought near a conclusion. Ali's tent was at last pitched near the first brackish well which was reached; the horses were tethered, the camels unloaded.
As the sun was still high, the Amir kept within the shelter of his tent, reclining on cushions, with his narghillah at his side, refreshing himself with perfumes, of which Orientals are fond. Ali made Robin share his carpet, and while the attendants outside made preparations for the evening meal, the Amir bade Robin beguile the time by reciting more of his English verses.
The wounded youth, struggling against almost overwhelming languor, increased by the heat, began the second chapter of St. John's First Epistle. His was a discouraging task, for Ali looked so dreamy that Robin doubted whether the Amir were listening at all, or whether the faint voice at his side were not merely having the effect of lulling the Persian to sleep.
Thus the first eight verses were recited, but when the following three were repeated, Robin could no longer doubt that Ali was listening. "He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now. He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him: but he that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness."
Ali raised himself from his cushions, fixed his dark melancholy eyes upon Robin, and made a movement with his hand to stop the recitation; he had heard enough, and more than he cared to hear. There was silence for some time in the tent, and the weary English youth had dropped asleep, when he was roused by a question from Ali.
"What will you do, O Feringhee, if you fail to find your brother?"
"I feel certain that I shall find him," said Robin the hopeful.
"There is nothing certain in this life, in which we are blown hither and thither like chaff before the wind," observed Ali. "Or, to change the metaphor, we are like bubbles floating for a moment over death's waters, only to break, mingle with them, and be lost for ever."
"You take a very dark view of life, and I take a bright one," said the Knight of St. John.
"The better for you," observed Ali, with a gloomy smile. "Pray, what is your view of life, O sage one?"
"That it is a time to work for God here, with His sunshine upon us, and a hope, nay, a certainty, of glory and happiness in His presence when our work is done!"
"I return to my first question," said the Persian. "If you are disappointed—as is likely enough—in your expectation of meeting your brother, what will you do? Will you not let something else fill his place?"
"Nothing; no one can fill Harold's place!" exclaimed Robin.
The tone of decision in which the words were uttered disappointed the Persian, in whose breast there was a secret unacknowledged yearning to have—what he had never yet had—a true friend.
Almost impatiently, he cried, "Why is it that you so set your affections on him whom you call by the name of Harold?"
"Is he not my brother?" said Robin.
"Oh, that is not enough! There are brothers and brothers; some are loved, and some—but let that pass. I want some better reason for your devotion to this Harold than the mere tie of blood, the mere accident of your having been born in the same dwelling."
"There is not a nobler fellow in the world than Harold?" said Robin.
"That is—in your eyes," said the Persian, drily; "you may not be an impartial judge. There may be others as brave, as gifted, as worthy of admiration as he."
"I never met such," observed Robin, who was not made for a courtier. Quite unconsciously, he wounded the vanity of the Persian, who was quite aware of his own personal advantages and mental acquirements.
"Have you any other reasons to give?" asked the Amir coldly.
"Plenty," was Robin's reply. "Harold has been my best friend, save one, since I was a child; I always remember his kindness; it is the first thing that I can remember. Harold carried me on his shoulders, he played with me; and when I went to school he was my protector, he would let no one bully his little brother. Harold helped me with my tasks,—I must have given him lots of trouble, I was such a stupid little chap over my books. Harold was the very model of an elder brother; I always looked up to him, and I do so now."
Ali very imperfectly understood this description of English child life, and school life, especially as Robin spoke faster than usual, as familiar scenes rose to his mind.
"Did you never quarrel?" asked the Persian, and he watched Robin's countenance keenly, as he replied in a slower, more hesitating tone.
"Harold was angry with me now and then, but never for long. I tried his patience sometimes, especially with my foolish tongue."
"Perhaps you try other people's patience too," said the Persian, drily. "But I like you," he continued more graciously, "your tongue has at least no venom or falsehood beneath it. If you find not your brother, what say you to following my fortunes? I could offer you much—wealth, change, amusement, perhaps even a visit to your own native land."
As Robin, taken aback at the proposition, made no immediate reply, Ali, in a tone more approaching to tenderness than he had used for many years, added, "Could you not regard me as an elder brother?"
Poor Robin felt as if driven into a corner. He did not wish to offend his protector, still less was he willing to wound his benefactor, and to speak truth fully would probably do both. The youth's troubled, perplexed look did not escape the keen notice of Ali.
"Answer me," he said, more sharply; "why do you hesitate in accepting an offer which most in your position would close with at once?"
"Because you could not be my Christian brother," replied Robin. "The closest tie of all between Harold and me is this—we serve the same God, we love the same Saviour, and look forward to sharing the same home. All other ties death must break; this, and this only, will last for ever."
"Enough, you will not have the offer twice!" cried the Amir, angrily, and leaning back on his cushions, he tried to sleep, but slumber would not come at his bidding. At last, raising himself on his elbow, Ali looked towards Robin, who was buried in deep sweet sleep. The Amir gazed with an emotion of envy on that pale but peaceful face.
"'He that loveth his brother abideth in the light'—were not those the words?" thought the Persian. "'He that hateth his brother is in darkness'—darkness—" something like a stifled groan burst from the Amir's lips, as there was no ear to hear it.
A DARK DEED.
ROBIN was refreshed by his sleep, although it was not a long one. He sat up and watched the Mahomedans at their customary devotions at sunset. Those of Hassan were very ostentatiously performed, as he prided himself on being a devout Mahomedan. Many were his prostrations, and numerous were his repetitions of the various titles of Allah.
"Perhaps he is a better man than I thought him," said Robin to himself. "He may honestly believe me to be an infidel, and honestly treat me as such; his bigotry may have its root in true zeal."
The manner of Hassan that evening had greatly changed from the sulky approach to insolence which he had displayed in the morning. He was more than usually obsequious to Ali, and almost courteous even to the Feringhee kafir. Hassan politely inquired after the state of Robin's wound, as if feeling a kindly interest in his health. Hassan warned the young Englishman to be on his guard against the evil effects of travelling in the heat after so serious an injury as he had received, as it would be most likely to bring on fever.
"Remain quiet in the tent," continued the self-constituted medical adviser, "I myself will bring to you your repast."
"No, thanks," said Robin; "I will rather eat in the open air like the rest."
Hassan seemed a little disappointed, but by no means offended. Apparently wishing to make up for past rudeness, at the evening meal, he himself helped Robin from a large platter heaped with cakes of unleavened bread, baked upon iron plates over the fire.
Just after Robin had given thanks for the food thus provided for him in the desert, a miserable, half-starved dog, attracted by the scent of savoury curry and piles, made its way into the circle. The creature looked timidly around as if seeking a protector, and then, as if by instinct, went up to the pale-faced boy.
"How comes the brute here," exclaimed Ali; "we look not even for wild dogs in a desert like this!"
"I should think that the poor creature must have been left here by travellers, stopping like ourselves for water and rest," said Robin, patting the animal as he spoke. "He does not look like a common wild dog."
"Kick out the unclean brute!" exclaimed Hassan, in a tone of disgust.
"He is hungry, poor fellow," said the English lad, and he threw his own unleavened cake to the dog.
"Kick him out! Beat him! Kill him!" vociferated Hassan, starting to his feet.
"No; he has sought my protection," said Robin, understanding the man's gestures though not his words; "I know what it is to be famished," and with pleasure, the kind-hearted lad watched the hungry creature devouring the food.
"Let the brute alone, Hassan," said the Amir authoritatively, as he saw his shadow approach with a club-like stick to dash out the brains of the dog, over whom Robin held a protecting arm.
"I'll not sit down on ground defiled by the beast!" exclaimed Hassan, and in an excited manner, he rushed to the tent.
"I noticed in India that you Englishmen often make companions of the dog," observed the Amir to Robin, as the repast proceeded. "I even saw fine specimens of the race which had been brought by their masters from Europe across the sea."
Robin, who was fond of animals, and especially of dogs, recounted several anecdotes of their sagacity and fidelity, pausing occasionally to give a pat or kind word to the creature he had fed.
"We think much more of the horse," observed Ali, and he told several stories of the Arab race, speaking usually in Persian for the benefit of his attendants, then translating his words into English.
"For speed and endurance, I would match my Firdosi against any horse in the world," said Ali, and he mentioned the extravagant sum which he had given for the beautiful creature. "Firdosi knows my voice, obeys me as if he were a child, and often feeds out of my hand. What you have told of the intelligence of the dog is nothing to—but what ails that dog!" exclaimed the Amir, interrupting himself in the midst of his sentence.
With a howl of agony, the creature whom Robin had fed had suddenly sprung up from his crouching position; his mouth foamed, his eyes were blood-shot, his tongue hung out, he ran wildly round and round in circles, every one backing out of his way, though the dog made no attempt to bite. He then rolled on the ground in convulsions.
"Poison!" exclaimed the Ali in English. "That chapatti which you threw to the dog must have been poisoned. Oh, that villain, Hassan; he meant it for you!" Then in a loud voice, the indignant Amir gave orders in Persian that Hassan should instantly be brought into his presence.
Two of the attendants hurried off to obey the command, but soon returned with surprise and alarm in their faces. Hassan was not to be found, nor was Firdosi; the would-be murderer had fled with some of his master's jewels, upon Ali's favourite horse.
"Which way has he fled?" asked the Amir, fiercely.
"By the hoof-tracks it appears in the backward track towards the sea, by the way that we traversed to-day."
"Thirty miles to the nearest well, and but the stars to guide—a perilous journey," observed the Amir, "even mounted as he is. But we must give chase; saddle the horses at once; though no horse," Ali bitterly added, "will ever overtake my fleet-footed steed. I would not have lost him for ten thousand pieces of silver. But, let it cost what it may, I will have revenge on that murderous villain!"
It was a bitter disappointment to Robin to have to turn back from the direction of Djauf to retrace the way which, even when he had been incited by hope, he had found so terribly tedious, the horses having had to keep pace with the slow-footed camels. In vain Robin tried to persuade Ali to forego the hope of revenge, to leave Hassan to his perilous ride, and not attempt to pursue him. Ali was intensely obstinate when once he had made up his mind.
When Robin looked on the carcase of the poor dog, now stretched out in death, and thought of what, but for a merciful interposition, would have been his own fate, he returned fervent thanks to his Heavenly Preserver from the depths of a grateful heart.
The Amir mounted Hassan's black steed, and made Robin ride on a smaller one by his side. Only the horsemen could possibly overtake the fugitive—the camels must follow more slowly. All the animals were tired, and their tedious pace annoyed the Amir, who freely used his spur. All that was savage in Ali's nature was roused, every feature expressed the anger within, his very voice seemed altered, the softness of the Persian tongue lost in the imprecations with which these pages shall not be sullied.
"You shall drink deep of the cup of revenge!" said the Amir to his English companion.
"I do not wish to do so," was Robin's reply; "revenge is forbidden to Christians; we are commanded to love our enemies."
"Another of the commandments of your religion which it is impossible to obey!" cried Ali, with something like scorn.
"Not impossible," said Robin, "since He who gave the command Himself fulfilled it."
Robin could say no more; he was not in a fit state for riding—his bridle arm useless and in a sling, it was difficult for him in his weakness to guide the animal which he bestrode, or even to keep his seat. The chase in which they were engaged seemed to Robin a wild one, and he did not even wish it to be successful, as success would but lead to some deed of blood. The party were only guided by the stars, and the fresh hoof-prints traced in the sand, seen by the light of a torch, for Ali was too impatient to wait for the rising of the waning moon.
But the ride was to be a much shorter one than any of the party had expected. Ali had to slacken his pace, as Robin could not keep up with him; the Amir in an irritable mood drew in his rein, but as he did so, a sound reached his ear from a little distance, which he recognised with joy and surprise.
"A horse's neigh, I believe; I am certain that it is the neigh of Firdosi!" Rising on his stirrups, Ali shouted out a call to his steed in a tone that made the welkin ring.
The neigh was repeated, and from a lesser distance; then the fleet-footed Firdosi came cantering up to his delighted master. By the light of the torch it was seen that his saddle was empty.
Many were the exclamations uttered, many were the caresses given to the beautiful and intelligent creature that had found his way back to his lord. But where was his rider?
As Ali, who had dismounted from the black horse, was stroking the neck of Firdosi, a little warm blood which came on his hand told its own tale.
"The wretch Hassan must have urged on my tired steed with the point of a dagger!" exclaimed Ali. "And Firdosi who is never touched even with a wand, who never felt the prick of a spur, must have suddenly plunged and thrown the coward. Hassan never knew how to ride. And now, my brave, beautiful steed, thou shalt bear me back to the place of encampment. Hassan, in the pathless desert, alone, without food, drink, or means of escape, will get his deserts, and die the lingering death of a starving dog in the burning heat."
"We cannot leave even a bad man to such a horrible fate!" exclaimed Robin. "Whatever else Hassan be, he is at least our fellow-creature."
"You cannot plead for the villain who sought to poison you," said Ali, who had just sprung into the saddle.
"I could not sleep in peace if I thought that even an enemy were dying of thirst!" cried Robin. "Let us find him—he must be near—and take him at least to some place where water can be found. Let us remember that only the merciful can hope for mercy."
"It is not for Hassan that I care to search," said Ali, "but for my dagger with the jewel-studded hilt which the robber has carried away. Let me but recover my dagger, and you may do what you will with the thief."
Again the party proceeded onwards, this time towards the place from which the horse's neigh had sounded. Robin's temples ached, he was almost exhausted, yet he went on. The moon was just showing her silver horn over the waste, and Robin was feeling that he could hold out no longer, when one of the attendants exclaimed, pointing with his spear:
"There—there! I see some one lying on the sand!"
The party rode in the direction indicated, and ere they reached the spot, recognised the red fez and the silken cloak which had been worn by Hassan. The Persian was lying where he had fallen when unseated by Firdosi's sudden plunge—for the Amir's guess had been correct—Hassan had been thrown from the horse. The miserable man, who was of full habit and heavy, had been flung to the ground with such violence that he had broken his spine. Hassan was utterly unable to rise, or even to move; he could only groan in helpless agony on the ground where he lay.
That expression of intense pain made the young Knight of St. John almost forget his own. Robin managed, he knew not how, to throw himself from his saddle and reach the miserable Persian.
"Forgot were hatred, wrongs and fears;The plaintive voice alone he hears,But sees the dying man."
Whilst others were stripping the robber and traitor of the jewels which he had carried away, Robin, kneeling on the sand, was attempting to raise Hassan's head to enable him to breathe more freely, but even the attempt increased the sufferer's pain. Robin's own face looked so ghastly pale, that at a sign from Ali, one of the Persians brought to the youth a flask of water, which the man had taken the precaution of slinging from his saddle-bow.
Robin took the flask readily, but he did not raise it to his own parched lips; the drops fell into the gasping mouth of the dying Hassan, and then the would-be murderer expired, with the hand of one whom he had sought to destroy, supporting his head.
ON AGAIN.
"THERE is reality in the religion of Christians, and there is one—if there be but one—whose faith is something woven into the very fibre of his life—not a mere golden fringe to adorn it."
Such were the reflections of Ali the Persian, as he silently gazed down on the group. "I can understand the English boy's loving his brother, though in a way which to me has a touch of a mystery in it; I can less understand the motives which made him suffer much, and risk more, for a comparative stranger; but the extraordinary impulse to requite evil with good, to give drink to a man who, sought his life, this cannot belong to earth. It is like the very reflection of His character, of whom the Christians say that God is Love. If such be the servant, what must the Master be?"
Robin was unable to rise from the spot where he had knelt. The poor lad's brain was reeling, the earth beneath him seemed to be sinking, and the skies above him whirling round. Robin was raised in an almost unconscious state, and, by Ali's command, placed before him on his noble horse.
The cavalcade moved slowly back till it reached the late place of encampment, happily near. Here the unwilling camels, laden with the tents and the baggage, were only preparing for a start. Glad were all the party to secure a few hours repose.
Ali made the best arrangements that circumstances permitted for his English friend, when the journey should be resumed. He gave orders that one of the large panniers which hung on either side of the smoothest-paced dromedary should be emptied of its contents, save of some dry fodder, which would make a couch of comparative softness. It was but a rude sick-bed indeed, but the best that could be hastily provided. It was evident that Robin, who had high fever, was unable to ride a horse. To linger longer than was absolutely necessary to rest the animals, might be death to all, for not even water was abundant, and there were no means at hand of replenishing the lessening stock of provisions, which had been provided for a journey less prolonged. Scarcely any new supply could be counted on during the long pilgrimage to Djauf.
But the Amir's mind was perplexed by the doubt whether Djauf beyond the desert, or the nearer Wyh on the sea-coast should be the goal of his travels. There was nothing to take him to the Arabian city except a hasty promise made to an English youth who might be now in a dying state.
One of Ali's dependents, approaching him with respect, inquired whether his chief would not return to his former intentions, and quit the land of Arabia, suggesting cogent reasons for taking that course, and glancing significantly at Robin, who lay stretched on a carpet.
"All depends on his state," replied Ali, looking in the same direction; "if he survive, I go to Djauf, if he die, I turn to the sea-coast and quit this hateful land for ever."
Robin knew nothing of what had been spoken, but as clearer consciousness came to his mind, so remembrance returned of what a few hours before had been uppermost in his thoughts.
"Harold—shall we not find him?" murmured Robin like one in a dream. Then opening his languid eyes, Robin fixed them on the Amir and faintly said, "You will take me to Djauf, to my brother?"
"If you can reach it," said Ali.
Robin noticed the slight emphasis on the "if," and the tone which suggested a doubt.
"You think me dying?" said he.
"No, you'll struggle through," replied the Persian; "no one dies at the first touch of fever." But he spoke like one who would soothe a frightened child.
"Were I to die, would you go on to Djauf?" asked Robin, who had no fear of death for himself, but a great fear of Harold's being left in the hands of the Bedouin Arabs.
A few days before, Ali would have uttered an unhesitating lie, but he had difficulty in speaking a falsehood to one so transparently truthful as Robin. "It would be better for us all to turn our faces towards Wyh," he replied.
Robin understood the words as a negative answer to his question. "I do not believe that I shall die!" he exclaimed with animation. "I will pray to God—all is in His hands—if it be His will, I shall yet see my brother on earth. But if the Lord calls me home, if I do not behold Harold—till we meet in heaven, oh! Say that you will not forget my last—my dying entreaty; that you should seek out my brother—and set him free!"
Ali could not resist the appeal, he could not turn away from that imploring look; he remembered that he owed his life to the youth who had suffered in consequence of rescuing him.
"What are your Highness's commands?" asked the Persian attendant.
"That we take the northern route," was the reply.
Robin was lifted into his strange vehicle; the kneeling camel arose, and the journey was recommenced by moonlight.
We will not follow the caravan in its various stages of progress: that progress was necessarily slow, for every animal was tired, and a constant watch had to be kept in case of another attack by roving Bedouins, whilst water had to be carefully husbanded, and provisions meted out. Robin was the only one of the party who knew not how scanty was the supply of both; Ali never suffered his young companion to endure actual privation. The sick lad, suspended in his curious cradle, "like a bird in a nest," as he playfully said, bore the journey much better than anyone had expected, for the pace of the trained dromedary is far smoother than that of the camel. At each halting-place the invalid was lifted down and placed under the shelter of the tent or in the open air, according to the time of the day. Robin had a fine vigorous constitution which successfully struggled to throw off fever, and the wound in his arm healed rapidly.