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With fierce countenance, and hand on sword hilt,the Persian bridegroom faces the man who once stabbed him.
"My mother dead!" exclaimed the Amir.
All's evident grief, intensified by remorse, did more than anything else to soften the resentment felt by Faiz ul Din, who, whatever he might be as a brother, was an affectionate son. For their mother's sake, he was willing to pass a sponge over the past, and make his own bridal festivities an excuse for even welcoming the presence of his only brother.
At command of Faiz ul Din, a magnificent tent was pitched, and the camel-drivers stopped their noisy disputes at the thought of the coming feast, of which all would partake together. Preparing the banquet was now the order of the night as regarded those without the tent, while within it, the Persian Amirs sat down to smoke their narghillahs and partake together of a repast. Robin pressed into the tent; he could let nothing make Ali forget his promise concerning Harold. The Persian was reminded of it by Robin's anxious pleading face before a word was spoken, and turned towards his own newly found brother.
"It is strange, O Faiz ul Din," said Ali, "that I should have at once to ask a favour of him whom I have wronged; yet so it is, for I am bound by a promise. This Feringhee," the Persian glanced towards Robin as he spoke, "has saved my life, and I have vowed to deliver his brother from bonds. That brother is one of your slaves, but he cannot have been so for long. Will you exchange him for my favourite steed, a pure Nejdean, the fleetest and finest to be found in Arabia?"
"My slave?" said Faiz ul Din. "Oh, yes, I remember, the handsome white one whom I received yesterday as a gift from my father-in-law, with a little Feringhee child. Take them both, my brother," continued the generous Persian; "I require neither them nor thy steed."
Ali translated the gracious words to Robin, after expressing his sense of his brother's kindness by pressing his hand on his own heart.
Robin overjoyed, darted off to bear the good tidings to Harold.
Faiz ul Din then inquired of Ali why he had deemed him dead, and had taken no means to ascertain whether the blow were fatal or not.
"It is not every stroke that slays," he observed.
"It was Hassan who told me that thy wound was mortal, and that our mother had vowed never to forgive him who had caused thy death."
"The lying slave!" exclaimed Faiz ul Din. "Brother, thou hast asked one favour of me, grant me one in return: Give that villain the bastinado."
"He is beyond our reach," replied Ali, and he pointed significantly to the ground.
"One villain the less on earth," was Faiz ul Din's phlegmatic remark.
The Persian brothers did not remain long together, or their renewed union might not have lasted long. Faiz ul Din showed neither surprise nor regret when Ali informed him that he himself was going for a second time to India, where he was likely to remain long, perhaps to the end of his life. Faiz ul Din looked upon Ali rather as a rival, than as his nearest living relative. The younger brother was willing that the elder one should go wherever he listed, so that he returned not to Persia.
It was not convenient that the two caravans should encamp at the same spot, as renewed quarrels between the retainers would be almost certain to ensue. Faiz ul Din was secretly glad when Ali gave orders to his followers to renew their march, though from courtesy, he remonstrated against such a speedy departure. The Amir was not now going towards Djauf, but to the south-west, towards the Red Sea, the wants of his party being supplied by the generosity of Faiz ul Din. The course of the two Persian brothers would be in different directions, and their paths were never likely to cross each other again.
Yet, brief as their meeting had been, it had removed a great burden from the mind of the elder; and it was with something like affection that Ali gave to Faiz ul Din a parting embrace. Firdosi remained behind as a fraternal gift.
"How wondrously has my way been marked out for me," said Ali to Robin, as soon as the parting was over. "Had I not met you, I should never have embraced the religion of Christ. Had you not urged me to go to Djauf to release your brother, I should never have known that my own still breathed; I should have gone to my grave with the stain of blood on my soul."
"Not so," replied Robin; "you would have learned the safety of Faiz ul Din when you arrived in Persia. Do you not now rejoice that you had resolved on making a painful sacrifice in obedience to God. Like Abraham you were spared the sacrifice after you had surrendered your own will and were ready to obey a difficult command, let obedience cost what it might."
"Now let me exchange words with your Harold," said Ali; "he looks a brother to be proud of, but—" the jealous nature would assert itself still—"he must not divide you from me."
"No!" exclaimed Robin warmly. "You will but have two brothers instead of one. Harold owes to your kindness his freedom, as I owe to your mercy my life. Harold, come here!" cried Robin. "This brave Persian has delivered us both!"
"And you, my young brother, have brought me to Christ!" cried Ali.
"Are you a Christian?" exclaimed Harold with joyful surprise.
"I was an unbeliever—an outcast—a hopeless wanderer in darkness," replied Ali, "till my English brother showed me that God is love and God is light, and that in light and love His likeness is borne by His servants even on earth."
Ali mounted a horse and rode on, but Robin declined riding the steed which, by the Amir's command, was brought to him by an attendant.
"Oh, Harold, let us walk together, and talk over all that has happened; one can't converse comfortably when one is in the saddle and the other on the back of a camel!" exclaimed Robin, locking his arm in that of his brother. "It is so delightful to march under the light of the stars; and I am so happy that I feel as if, with you at my side, I could walk on for ever!"
"We will march on a little apart from the rest," said Harold, who fully shared Robin's enjoyment, though he was less vehement in its expression.
"We cannot lose the caravan, even if no light were carried," observed Robin; "for though the camels' tread makes no sound, the horses and men give out enough noise to guide us, even though the night were darker. There is Lammikin up yonder, singing a song in her own honour; but I miss Miss Petty's familiar voice, which one usually heard first of all."
"Poor Miss Petty's voice will never be heard again!" said Harold. "Her form lies under Arabian sand."
"Like that of our saintly friend!" exclaimed Robin, who had already told Harold of Mrs. Evendale's peaceful departure. "Poor Miss Petty!" he added with genuine pity. "I never thought of her being taken so soon. I wish that I had shown her more kindness whilst she was with us!"
"And I wish that I had been less remiss in speaking to her as a minister of the Gospel ought to speak," said Harold, with self-reproach. "It is strange how we often most neglect those with whom we are brought into most constant contact; it is far easier to preach a stirring sermon to hundreds than closely to apply its lessons to one. Perhaps in nothing more than in our familiar intercourse with common acquaintances shall we, upon our death-beds, have cause to cry, like Bishop Usher, 'Lord, forgive me my sins, specially my sins of omission!'"
"And now I have a confession to make to you, Harold," said Robin. "I do not know what you will think of my conduct, but I'll make a clean breast at once, as befits a Knight of St. John. If we had not, most happily, met with Faiz ul Din in this desert, what think you that I had bound myself in honour to do?"
"I'm dull at guessing riddles," replied Harold. "I cannot imagine what you had to do with Faiz ul Din, before you had even set eyes upon him."
"Ali thought that he had killed his brother in a quarrel some years ago," said Robin, "and my poor friend had not the courage to go back to Persia, face his mother's anger, and ask her forgiveness. I urged him to go—I thought that it was his duty to do so. Did I do right, Harold, in pressing this point?"
"As far as you have told me the circumstances, I should think that you did right," replied Harold.
"But the Persian could not consent to return to his country unless I agreed to go with him," said Robin. "So I made a hasty promise one minute, and repented of it the next. I made All a promise the fulfilment of which would have separated me from you, from our father, from the work in which I long to engage. What can you think of me, Harold?"
"I think that you acted very much like—like Robin Hartley," replied Harold smiling, but it was too dark for the smile to be seen.
"That is to say, a foolish, thoughtless fellow, who will grow grey before he learns to grow wise! You should have had a more sensible brother."
"I'm very well contented with my lot, dear old boy!" laughed Harold; and he thought to himself, "I would not exchange my honest true-hearted Robin for any other brother in the world!"
CONCLUSION.
IT is unnecessary to detail the incidents in a rather monotonous journey, for one made with camels is necessarily slow. The desert wandering was not even broken in upon by an attack from Bedouin Arabs, though a sharp look-out was kept against them. Yet, though slow, neither the Hartley brothers nor Ali found the journey dull. Long interesting conversations beguiled the way, religion being the most frequent topic. Robin rejoiced that the Persian had now beside him one so far better able to instruct him in spiritual matters than he himself ever had been. Robin rather wondered how it could be that though Ali held the deepest converse with Harold, he should evidently retain the strongest affection for the youth whom he first had known.
Shelah, perched on her camel, enlivened the way by her bird-like songs. The child lived much more in the present than in either the future or the past. She looked out for ostriches, which she never saw, and her greatest disappointment was that of not finding one of their eggs on the sands.
One day Shelah, who was in advance, shouted so loudly and so gleefully, clapping her hands as she did so, that she attracted the attention of Robin.
"What is it Lammikin,—what are you looking at? Another mirage?" he inquired.
"The sea! The sea!" cried the child, with delight.
It was no mirage this time. Again the travellers were to behold the rolling waves breaking on the Arabian shore, and hear the sound of the waters which told of freedom! Impatiently the cavalcade pressed on; Shelah longed to jump down and run, as if her little bare feet could outstrip the slow stride of the camel.
Lammikin was still full of energy and spirit; an energy which in future life was to make her foremost in good works, as when a child she had been in mischief; a spirit which was to enable her to laugh at difficulties and overcome them. There is many a sweet kernel hidden in a rough unattractive shell, and the wild little Irish girl was to develop into the noble woman, an active friend of missions, especially of that one in which the Hartleys were engaged.
It was some little time before a passage could be secured in a vessel that would bear the party across the Red Sea. The days which intervened before embarkation were partly employed by Ali in selling off his horses and camels, which he parted with at a considerable loss.
"Only ten pieces of silver for that magnificent dromedary!" exclaimed Robin, as he saw an Arab, well satisfied with his bargain, lead away the creature on which his "nest" had been swung. "I fear, Amir, that you have suffered no small loss from your journey to Arabia."
"If I weigh my gains against my losses, the latter will show in the balance as the down on the feather, or the bubble on the stream," replied Ali, with a smile not cynical, but almost as bright as Robin's. "I have no longer to fly from self, for self is surrendered to Christ, and I have found in Him what is worth living for—and dying for, as you said to me once. The dark stagnant pool now reflects the blue sky, and from it, instead of the miasma of remorse, rises the exhalation of praise. The burden which made life a weariness is laid down; the shadow which darkened it has passed away. Blessed be the day when I set my foot in Arabia; thrice blessed that in which I first met with a Christian friend!"
"We too have cause to be thankful that we were led hither," observed Harold, who had joined his companions. "And yet how mysterious at first seemed that leading; of how bitter a cup we brothers had to drink! Had we known beforehand what we had to endure in Arabia, we might have looked forward with cowardly dread to what we now look back upon with humble thanksgiving."
"Yes, we have had strange adventures in this land which we are now quitting," exclaimed Robin. "I can scarcely believe that not a month has elapsed since the day when we landed in Arabia, to while away, as we thought, but one or two hours! Half a life-time's experience seems to have been crowded into a few weeks. Danger, suffering, hunger, thirst, loss of friends, of freedom, of all that could make life pleasant, and yet light from Heaven brightening, and love from Heaven sweetening all!"
"In Arabia we have kept our night of watching beside our armour," said Harold, "and now the dawn of morning bids us put it on."
"Yes," cried Robin, "for our life's work is still before us! May God enable us to quit ourselves in the Mission battle-field as faithful bearers of the stainless Cross,—as true and fearless Knights of St. John."
THE END.