In the morning, Iskender's face had swollen where his lord had whipped it, half-closing one of the eyes. The chiefs of the Arabs cried out at sight of it and asked to know the cause of its disfigurement when their guests prepared to set forth in the morning under the escort of two armed and mounted tribesmen. He put them off with the story of a fall from his horse. The Frank glanced but once at his handiwork; and then looked down and bit his lip, contrition and annoyance at war in his demeanour. After riding long in gloomy silence, he inquired:
"What made them change?"
Iskender, wishing to take all the credit of the deliverance to himself, and at the same time to avoid mention of Wady 'l Mulûk, replied:
"I told them you are mad."
"You told them what?" exclaimed the Emîr from frozen heights of anger.
"That you are mad, sir."
A storm of abuse, couched in language he had never heard among the missionaries, stupefied Iskender, who had expected compliments upon his cleverness.
"You dared to tell them I was mad." The Emîr seemed thunderstruck. He presently announced his resolve to return at once to captivity; but Iskender with a courage unexpected by himself, assured him that would be to prove his madness. The palpable truth of this contention angered the Frank, like a blow. He flushed crimson and turned upon Iskender with whip raised.
"Leave me, you infernal fool," he cried. "Clear out, I say! Let me never see your cursed face again!… Don't grin, you ape! Get out of my sight, or I shall murder you."
Iskender turned his horse and rode off slowly with many a backward glance of pure dismay. Who would have dreamt that his Emîr, the easiest of men, could ever be transformed into this raging tyrant? The tragedy of his own disgrace seemed insignificant beside the wreck of his dear lord's intelligence. For the Emîr was mad, not a doubt of it; Iskender had not lied in his report to the Arab sheykh. He went back till he met the baggage animals, then turned his horse and rode beside Mahmûd. The latter paused in his journey-chant to ask:
"What news, O my dear?"
"The Emîr has driven me away," Iskender blubbered. "He wishes never to see my face again."
"May Allah cure him of his illness! It is sure he is possessed with devils more than one! Be not so mournful, O my soul! After an hour, in sh' Allah, he will have forgotten anger."
"In sh' Allah!" Iskender echoed, weeping bitterly.
The muleteer resumed his road-song, and they fared along through a land of sunbaked rocks, where spots of shade were welcome to the eye as springs of water, the mule-bells clanging ceaselessly, until they scaled a ridge whence the whole rough sea of uplands could be surveyed. Their Arab guides had stopped here, clearly wishing to return, and were trying to make the Emîr understand their purpose by shouting in his ears.
"Go thou, Mahmûd, and hear what they have to say. Inquire the road of them and point it out to the Emîr," Iskender murmured.
He himself stopped short, fearing his lord's fresh anger. The Emîr had descried him, however, and came riding towards him.
"What are you following for? Didn't I say that I had done with you?"
"Oh, sir!" Iskender burst into a flood of tears. "Haf mercy! Drife me not away! I luf you so! and how can I leaf you in this wilderness. You loose your way, and I—I die of fear!"
His tears and piteous words only displeased his lord the more. But it seemed to be the livid weal upon his face that quite incensed the Frank. The moment his eyes fell on that, his wrath leapt past all bounds.
"You lying, cringing cur!" he yelled. "Get out, I tell you! The sight of you's enough to drive one mad. If I catch you following again, I'll give you such a thrashing as you never had in all your life."
With that he gnashed his teeth and rode away.
Iskender remained where he was. The two Bedawis, departing, wished good luck to him, but swore that, for their part, they had liefer feed on prickly shrubs than serve so mad a master. He could hear Mahmûd objecting to go on without him, and the Frank commanding, threatening, till with a shrug the muleteer gave way, and shouted: "Straight on!" for Iskender's guidance. The clangour of the bells broke out anew.
Iskender waited till the little train was lost to sight, then followed miserably. His love was very ill, there was no doubt, and needed better tendance than Mahmûd, with the best intentions, could afford him. The muleteer could only, at the best, cook country food, while cleanliness and comfort were unknown to him. He could not make a bed or clean a riding-boot. Iskender clenched his teeth and swore it should not be. At all risks his sick lord must be made comfortable. So when, at sundown, he came in sight of the tent, he dismounted and tethered his horse out of sight, then walked up boldly. Mahmûd was at the fire behind the wind screen.
"Welcome, O my eyes!" he whispered, giving place. "Allah knows I cannot cook a Frankish supper; yet his Honour will not hear of thy return. Now, praise to Allah, he is sound asleep, being tired from the journey. Make no noise, however, for, if he found thee here, he might well shoot thee. He is very mad indeed; may Allah heal him!"
Iskender stayed and cooked a tempting meal out of the provisions given by the Arab sheykh. Then taking food and water for himself and his horse, he returned to his hiding-place, where, in the shelter of a rock, he spent that night.
In the dawn he listened for the sounds of starting, and heard the mule-bells die away before he mounted. He had saved a piece of bread, a date or two, on which he broke his fast at noon; and not long after saw the tent shine forth, white in the yellow landscape, beside the flat roofs of a village terracing a steep hillside. He recognised the place as one of those where they had rested happily upon the outward way. The sheykh received him in his house; his horse was cared for. Towards sunset he approached the tent. Mahmûd, from afar off, signalled that the coast was clear.
"The Emîr has wandered off among the rocks," he told Iskender. "There is no cooking to be done this evening, he has no appetite except for fruit and arac. His sickness tightens hold, it is well seen. Enter now, I pray thee, and make straight the bed. I cannot do it in the manner thou didst teach me. I myself must go into the village and buy fruit of some kind."
Iskender made the bed with loving touches, full of thoughts of his dear lord. He was finishing the work, when a shadow came across the sunset at the tent-mouth. The Emîr stood there as one transfixed with horror. Iskender clasped his hands, and drooped his eyes. An oath rang forth, a fierce hand clutched his throat, a whip descended on his back and limbs; it burnt like fire. Iskender, maddened, closed with his assailant, wrenched the whip from his hand and flung him off. The Emîr fell heavily. Iskender flung away the whip, and fled in terror.
What had he done? The Emîr was weak through illness. His known inferior in strength had thrown him easily. Iskender would have shed his life-blood to recall the blow, would have borne the beating to the end unflinching. He prayed to Allah that no hurt had come to his beloved. Returning after dark, he interrogated Mahmûd, who assured him the Emîr was just the same, no worse, no better. That was some small comfort.
Sadly he followed in his loved one's track, through places which had seen his former glory, secreting himself always in the village next to which the tent was pitched, and stealing forth at evening, when the Emîr rested, to cook the supper and consult Mahmûd.
"His madness grows much worse," the man informed him. "He throws things at my head and often beats me, because I cannot do things that are not my business, or fail to understand his words. My soul is angry sometimes, and I long to show my strength; but behind the weakest of these Franks there is the consul standing; and indeed it were a sin for any man to punish one so afflicted. His face is yellow, his hands shake. I often fear that he is going to die!"
"Allah forbid!" exclaimed Iskender fervently. It was his daily prayer that they might reach the town and its conveniences before his sickness quite disabled the Emîr. It seemed as if this prayer was to be answered. They had returned to within a few hours of their starting-place, and had pitched their tent upon the coastland plain at the foot of the hills, when Iskender one morning, in his hiding-place, listened in vain for the accustomed noise of starting. Alarmed at length, he quitted cover, and drew near the tent. Mahmûd sat out before it in the sunshine, cross-legged, and staring gravely at his mules, which were browsing the coarse grass. From time to time he pushed his turban back to scratch his head with a perplexed expression.
"Allah is merciful!" he exclaimed at sight of his friend. "The Emîr still lags a-bed. He will not hear me, though three times I have coughed from soft to loud in his presence, and knocked the chair against the table with progressive noise. His sleep seems troubled, for I hear him utter unknown words. God grant that he may awake refreshed and free from madness!"
Iskender advanced on tip-toe to the tent and entered its deep shadow. The Emîr turned on the small camp-bed and spoke his name affectionately. With a bursting heart Iskender flung himself upon the ground, confessing all things, asking pardon for his crimes. It was long ere he realised that his beloved was not present, that what had greeted him so friendly was the demon of delirium. His very marrow froze on the discovery.
Then, in that moment of his greatest need, his thoughts flew straight to his old foes, the missionaries. Though harsh and arrogant in times of health, they had not their like in the land for kindness when a man was ill. He told Mahmûd to take the horse of the Emîr and ride for his life to the Mission.
Having seen the messenger depart he went back into the tent, and sat down on the ground beside the sick-bed. He sullied his face with earth, and moaned to Allah. When some fellâhîn from the village near at hand became spectators of his grief, he asked them to provide fresh milk, a lot of it, having heard that milk was salutary in the treatment of a feverish illness. The milk was brought to him, with scorn of payment. He gave a cupful to the Emîr, and repeated the dose at intervals thereafter, with ceaseless prayers to Allah for his lord's recovery.
It was the third hour after noon when he heard foreign voices and the tramp of several beasts before the tent. The priest of the Mission entered gravely with the Sitt Carûlîn. The Sitt Hilda followed, looking fresh and tempting despite the sorrow painted on her face. Iskender sprang to greet them, giving praise to Allah; at such a time he had no thought of bygones; but the ladies turned from him in disgust; the Father of Ice bade him begone and hide his infamy. Going out in obedience to that harsh command he found a litter with two mules waiting in charge of Mahmûd, in addition to the thoroughbred horse of the missionary and the donkeys of the two ladies, which were guarded by Costantîn, the father of Asad.
"May Allah comfort thee, O Iskender!" exclaimed the muleteer fervently.
"May Allah have mercy on thee, rather," chuckled Costantîn malignantly; "for thou art like to suffer death for this last exploit!"
Iskender scarcely heard. He ran until he was out of their sight, and then lay down among some rocks and wept his fill. When he returned towards the camp an hour later, meaning to make himself useful unobtrusively, it was to find nothing left on the spot where all his interest in life had been so lately concentrated except an empty tin and some bits of paper. That, and the ashes of their last night's fire! He stood a long while staring fixedly at these memorials.
More from subconscious attraction than from impulse Iskender trudged for hours across the wide coast plain till he reached the sandhills and beheld the house of the missionaries. It was then towards midnight, and the moon was rising. He sat and watched that house, with scarcely a movement, till the dawn came up, and the moon became a symbol in the lighted sky. With the cries of waking birds, with the return of colour, his blood flowed warm again. He arose, and turned towards his mother's house. The sun appearing as he reached the cactus hedge, he paused a moment to survey the well-known scene in that moment of transfiguration, when the sea caught light, and shadows stretched themselves luxuriously. He felt the paint-box at his breast with hope revived.
Through the open door he could see that his mother was at prayers, kneeling before the picture of the Blessed Virgin which he had painted for her long ago before he knew the way of it. From time to time she lowered herself upon her hands until her forehead touched the ground. He stood without upon the sand till she had finished.
Her first expression was of glad thanksgiving, as she ran and clasped him to her breast; then, in a trice, her voice resumed its ancient scold, with an addition of real anger.
"May thy life be cut short! What devil brought thee hither, of all places in the world the one where thy foes are most sure to seek thee? Fly, I tell thee! Fly, O accursed malefactor! They have complained against thee to the consul."
Iskender begged for food, which she could not refuse, though she produced it unwillingly, and stood over him while he ate, adjuring him, for the love of Allah, to make haste.
"O my terror, my despair!" she wailed. "All the slaves of power are out in search of thee. They have been here already, threatening me with torture. And the missionaries also have been here each day, maligning thee, and forcing me to join the hue and cry. They have spat their venom also on Abdullah, thy paternal uncle, even blackening his face with Kûk! The poor good man has been forced to return to his drunkenness. Have I not grief enough already that thou must needs fly hither and increase my terrors? What ailed thee to mislead the young Emîr? I warrant thou hast made no profit by it. And that fine treasure written to thy name, predestined for thee, hast brought back any of it, luckless boy?"
"I missed the way, O my mother. The Emîr fell ill; we were captured by the Bedû; all things warred against me."
"So I could have told thee! It is a judgment on thee for keeping secrets from thy loving mother!… For the love of Christ, make haste, have done with eating. If Costantîn or one of the ladies were to catch thee here, or if the soldiers come and slay thee before my eyes!"
Something of her anxiety communicated itself to him. With the rest of the food in his hands he departed hastily. But after running for, perhaps, a hundred paces, he shrugged his shoulders and resigned his cause to Allah. On all hands homely objects wooed his gaze: a lone fig-tree down in a hollow, among whose branches he had perched and dreamed as a small boy; the path, now scarce defined, by which he went to school, choosing always to rush up the steepest part of the dune through excess of energy; the tamarisks round the Mission, and its high red roof; minarets and a dome of the town peering above the dark green wave of gardens. All looked so pleasant in the early sunlight, it forbade him to feel concern for his own fortunes. Even though, by cruel misconstruction of his motives, he were disgraced for life, all this remained to him. In attaching his desires to this he ran no risk of being wounded, as he had been by the human things he sought to love.
Strolling thus in reverie, he came upon the house of Mîtri with surprise. The thought of the priest as a protector at once occurred to him; for Mîtri was a favourite with the Muslim rulers, and the Orthodox Patriarch, his ecclesiastical head, could oppose a power almost consular to any attempt to persecute a member of his flock.
On the sunlit open space before the church, in the centre of which rose the ilex-tree, pigeons and a few lean fowls were pecking and dusting their wings, with rapturous coos and chuckles. No one appeared at the doors of the hovels, all of which stood open, nor did any voice but that of hens proceed from thence. But through the door-way of the little church came a sound of high monotonous chanting, interrupted at regular intervals by loud ejaculations from an audience.
Iskender pulled off his boots, and went in. The little nave was full of people, some standing, a few kneeling, the most part lying prostrate on the beaten earth which served instead of pavement. Through the door of the sanctuary, he could see the priest Mîtri, gorgeously arrayed, serving at the altar, bright with many candles which leaned this way and that without the least arrangement. Now he walked all round it swinging a little censer, now stopped before a largeish book upon a stand, reciting all the time in nasal tones. Nor was this all his business; for, except when the curtain was drawn at the moment of the Sacred Mystery, he kept an eye on the behaviour of some little boys who sat demurely on the doorstep of the sanctuary, and, catching one of them at some mischief, interrupted the service to fetch him a cuff on the ear and ejaculate, "Curse thy father, child of Satan!" Among those of the congregation who lay face to the earth, Iskender presently recognised Elias; and close to him, both standing, were Selîm and Daûd, sons of Mûsa. No one seemed to have remarked his entrance.
The service ended, all pressed forward to kiss the hand of the celebrant, and, having done so, one by one, streamed forth into the sunlight. Iskender soon thought himself alone in the church watching the priest put out the altar-lights. But suddenly out of the darkest corner a man rose up and made a step towards the sanctuary, with arms outstretched in fierce appeal; then cried aloud and, burying his face in his hands, ran stumbling out. Despite the untrimmed beard, the dirty clothes, Iskender recognised Abdullah, and a shudder ran through all his bones.
The priest, having disrobed, at length emerged from the sanctuary in his everyday costume of black cassock and tall cylindrical headpiece; when Iskender knelt before him with choice blessings, and implored his aid. In the shadow, with eyes yet dazzled from the radiance of the tapers he had just extinguished, Mîtri could not make out who it was, but holding the suppliant's hands led him up to the light. "Ma sh' Allah!" he exclaimed when he identified Iskender; and holding his hands more tightly, took him to his own house.
There, having sent his wife out on an errand, he called for Iskender's tale without delay, saying:
"I am much distressed on thy account; for the whole world speaks evil against thee. It is said that thou hast robbed and slain the English Emîr who trusted thee. A lie, no doubt; but still I fear for thee, for the common voice outcries the truth down here. Moreover, it is said that thou hast sworn falsely by the Blessed Sacrament; Yuhanna Mahbûb has vowed to kill thee for it. That is a heinous sin if it be true. Answer that first, before we proceed further. Art thou indeed so perjured?"
"No, O our father. By Allah, I swore truly when I said I knew of no treasure, as will appear from the full confession I now make to thee," Iskender answered, with eyes full of tears. He was going to embark upon his story when the figure of a woman closely shawled appeared before them in the doorway.
"May Allah reward thee, O our father Mîtri," cried his mother, as, stooping, she kissed the priest's black robe. "In pity save Iskender from those hounds of hell! All that they speak against him is a lie. It was the Frank led him astray, not he the Frank. I guessed he would fly straight to thee, the known friend and protector of the wronged, and my soul desired to be with him and hear his story."
Relieved of the fear of the missionaries which pervaded her own abode, she now embraced her son and, sitting beside him, took his hand in hers.
"Proceed with the story, O my son!" said Mîtri.
When all was told the woman wept aloud, exclaiming:
"Woe upon us! It is worse than was supposed. Iskender is a loser. Iskender is most innocent of all men living. Oh, who will show the truth to those who hate him? He has shown himself a fool—a perfect fool!"
Therewith she rose to go, explaining that she dared not stay another minute for fear the ladies of the Mission should go to the house in her absence, and grow angry and suspicious at not finding her. It was their usual morning for the visit. Once more she embraced her son, exclaiming:
"This is upon us from the hand of Allah, unto whom be praise! Yet—by the Gospel!—I had thought thee more intelligent!"
Having made sure from the threshold that no one from the Mission was in sight, she shuffled off along the burning road.
For some time Mîtri sat immersed in thought; while Iskender, on whom the business of narration had brought back despair, hid his face in his arm. At length the priest pronounced:
"In all thy conduct as related I discern no grievous sin, but only folly and a youth's wild fancies. The Franks will call thee sinful and a liar; but they, I think, have never known the youth which we experience—the warmth, the wonder and the dreams of it. The lad who has been taught to read, or fed with stories, is dazzled by the vision of the world, its sovereignties, its wealth, its strange encounters. He pictures himself a ruler or a lord of riches, and invents a store of marvels for his own delight; and that because he would admire himself, and cannot do so in the daily tasks and mean surroundings of his actual life. I myself, when at the seminary, considered the Patriarch's throne as mine of right, and should not have been greatly surprised to find myself installed there with my copy-book in my hand. But by-and-by the world enlarged. Its distances and depths appeared more clearly. I perceived how, in order to become a Patriarch, I must lead the monastic life, renouncing homely joys; and even thus stood little chance of gaining my desire, since all the chief among the monks are foreign Greeks who despise us sons of the Arab, and would keep us down. The face of a girl I loved soon exorcised ambition; and behold me a small parish priest, a friend and equal of poor fellâhîn. Now thy dream was to be a Frank in all save birth, to associate with thy Emîr on equal terms. To that end all thy follies were invented. The wish was foolish only, but to put it into practice, that was fatal to thee—a crime in all men's eyes! 'O dreamer, sit still in thy chamber, thou art a prince: air thy princeship, men will teach thee thou art an ass!' The world defames thee, as is only natural. It would have done the same for me, had I, a poor young student, actually claimed the honours of a Patriarch. Allah made thee a son of the Arabs. Accept the part allotted, and give up aping that which thou canst never be. The charge of perjury at any rate, is groundless as against thee. I will send word to Yuhanna, lest he harm thee. And now the moral is: I wish to help thee, but cannot well do so whilst thou art a heretic. Promise to let me baptize and anoint thee without more ado, and Allah witness I will make thy cause my own."
For the first time since their meeting in the church, the priest here smiled.
"I swear it," said Iskender; "though Allah knows I care not what becomes of me. I pray thee, tell my uncle Abdullah what I have told to thee, that his mind may be healed."
"That is useless, O my son; for I have reasoned with him. His grief is neither for thy deeds nor what is said of thee, but for some words thrown at him by the English missionary. He set such store by his respectability and the esteem in which the Franks all held him, that now, in his humiliation, none but Allah can relieve his mind."
While thus expounding, the priest took up his staff and exchanged his thin house slippers for stout walking ones. With the last words he departed, bidding Iskender wait till he returned.
The youth sat still in dejection, hypnotised by the bright edge of sunlight on the threshold, seeing nothing else. He believed himself alone, when a hand touched one of his—a hand as cool and lissom as a serpent's skin. The daughter of Mîtri knelt on the ground beside him. She kissed his hand, and pressed it to her childish bosom.
"May Allah comfort thee!" she whispered. "Look not so miserable, I entreat thee, for it makes me cry. When my father sent my mother out, I hid behind the oven, and so heard thy tale. If it is true, thou didst well; and if it is false, I care not, thou didst well! Praise to Allah, thou art no longer a Brûtestânt; thou art one of us, and I can call thee brother."
Up to this point her voice was full of love; but when, awake at last, he tried to draw her to him, she cursed his ancestry and broke away. She had supposed him quite disabled by misfortune. Running fast across the space of sunlight, she sat down in the shade of the oak-tree, where he could still see her in the frame of the doorway, and fell to singing softly to herself.
She was still sitting there, at play with some glass beads, when her father returned.
"Praise be to Allah!" exclaimed Mîtri, striding in and sitting down beside Iskender. As soon as he recovered breath, he told his story.
He had seen the secretary of the caimmacâm, and from him had learnt that the English consul was Iskender's chief accuser. Having no influence to oppose to so powerful an adversary except that of the Patriarch, Mîtri had decided in his mind to make appeal to His Beatitude, who was sure to feel kindly disposed towards a convert from Protestantism; when a message was brought to the functionary, whose manner changed at once. A telegram just received from the consul himself declared the young man guiltless of the crimes imputed to him. So pursuit was at an end.
Iskender thanked the priest, and praised his name. In the warmth of kindly treatment after many hardships, he cast aside reserve and caution as mere winter garments, and, the girl Nesîbeh being still before his eyes, kissed Mîtri's hand and owned his passion for her. Already he loved Mitra as a father. He prayed to Allah he might some day be in truth his son. That was his dearest wish, the one hope left to him. The priest regarded him with pure amazement for a space, then burst out laughing.
"Thou son of a dog!" he cried. "What words are these? Is this the season for such talk? The girl is young to marry. And thou art overbold, a youth with nothing! If thy mind is still the same, say three years hence, then let thy mother approach her mother, who, I think, would scorn such wealth as thou couldst offer. Now to talk sense. Thou canst no longer lodge at the hotel, though Selîm and Mûsa have maintained thy innocence, and, for themselves, would still have welcomed thee. But Mûsa, their father, has forbidden it. He says, and justly, that thy dwelling there would bring discredit on the house just now, when every traveller has the tale of thy misdeeds and hates thy name. Come, and I will show thee thy lodging in the house of an old couple on whom Allah has bestowed male offspring only. It is but a step from here."
Again Iskender thanked the priest and kissed his hand. For the first time in his life he felt at home in his own land. The whole of the Orthodox community were henceforth his brethren.
On the next day Elias came to visit him, without malice for the past or the slightest recollection of ever in his life having slandered his good friend, now his brother in the faith. All his thoughts were of Wady 'l Mulûk. Had Iskender been there? No? Well, how was that? Iskender confessed that he had lost the description of its whereabouts, and his memory had played him false. They had been very near to the place, of that he felt sure; but the Emîr lost patience and refused to search any further. So, for lack of a little perseverance, all was lost, and the whole expensive journey made for nothing.
Elias listened with devout belief.
"A pity!" he explained. "But take heart, O my soul; thou and I will go together one of these days and examine that whole region. We shall find it yet, in sh' Allah!"
So obliging was his friendliness that he insisted on being a witness of Iskender's baptism upon the morrow. His presence, with the scarlet dust-cloak and the silver-mounted whip, astride of a prancing charger, reflected glory on the little group of peasants who trudged out to the nearest river, the priest with them. On the return there was a feast set forth in the house of Mîtri, and great rejoicing of the whole community. Elias was in boisterous spirits, boasting and telling strange stories; the sons of Mûsa discussed politics and the price of money with the rich Azîz; the priest made childish jokes and laughed at them; while the remainder of the party, mere turbaned fellâhîn, swarthy-faced and rough-handed, ate heartily and applauded all that was said. The only death's-head present was Abdullah. Dismissed by Cook as a result of the aspersions of the missionary, he now proclaimed his intention to start business on his own account. But men shook their heads and winked aside when he talked of it. The testimonials which he vaunted as his stock-in-trade had been given to an elderly man of dignity and pronounced decorum, not to this mouthing sheykh of the dirty raiment and the visage ploughed by dissipation. On the present occasion he had no appetite for solid food, but sat apart morosely, tasting from time to time with manifest disrelish the light drinks provided. It seemed he wished to go, but lacked the strength of mind required to detach his person from so large a company. His head and hands kept trembling, and he muttered to himself.
Merriment was at its height when there came a knock at the door. The priest Mîtri opened, and exclaimed in glad surprise:
"Honour us, O khawâjah! Come in! Fear not! All my guests are honest people, and the occasion of our feast concerns thee nearly. We have this day reclaimed a Brûtestânt from the way of perdition. Would to Allah I might baptize thee also, O light of my eyes!"
The belated visitor would have drawn back at glimpse of so large a gathering, but Mîtri took him by the arm and brought him in. It was the preacher Ward, the humblest of all missionaries, who was sent about the country on the errands of the proud ones; a modest, pious man, who spoke good Arabic and scorned not to converse upon a footing with the natives of the land.
All rose upon his entrance. Old Abdullah straightened his frame to something of its former majesty, and said:
"Good efenin', sir!"
"I have come too late, I find," the small white-bearded clergyman remarked to Mîtri, who had forced him to be seated and set food before him. "I knew not that the baptism had taken place. My desire was only to ascertain that Iskender was earnest in this change of faith, and not impelled by anger at a treatment he conceived to be unjust."
"By Allah, no, he is the most sincere of converts!" responded Mîtri with his jolly laugh. "Have I anything to tempt a proselyte? Look round this room—with one beyond it, it is all my house—and compare it with the dwelling of the Father of Ice. Ah, no, my friend: this is a true conversion!"
"I ask you to belief, sir, that I haf nothin' to do with it," said old Abdullah angrily in English. "I suffer much from unkind thin's beeble say about me. They haf ruined me in my brofession."
Mîtri silenced the old man. With a Protestant missionary for his guest, the priest thought all words wasted that were not employed on controversial subjects.
"Thou art a good man, O khawâjah," he observed politely but with a certain malice. "Thou alone of all thy tribe wouldst deign to enter my poor house without arrogance, and sit down with my friends and neighbours in this kindly way; more especially this evening, when our gladness is at your expense. Tell me, I beseech thee, in what sense the others of your kind serve Allah by building palaces in the land, displaying a luxury unknown among us, and so tempting the weak and worthless of the Church to gather round them in the hope of gain. The Muslimin are unassailable, being the rulers; and the Latins are too strong and clever for them; so because their Honours must convert some one, being paid and sent here for the purpose, they take example from the Latins and turn on us, who are weak and not well educated. But how do they serve Allah in all this? Explain to me, O my soul!"
The visitor stroked his thin white beard.
"Are the schools nothing? Are the hospitals nothing?" he inquired.
"By Allah, it is true, they are much!" came in chorus from the company.
"But the charity might be greater if it were dissociated from attempts at perversion," submitted Mîtri with a show of deep humility.
The missionary reflected for a moment before he said gently:
"Your ideas and ours are widely different. When I was young I thought with others of my kind, and preached conversion zealously and from the heart. But now that I am old I sometimes think as you do, and ask myself what good there is in making proselytes. But Allah is above all of us; He alone sees the end. We strive, and others strive, for special objects, an all fail, or else find disappointment in success; but Allah uses our success and failure, and with them gains an object which we never saw. Look back, O my friend, a score of years, and tell me: Is not the intercourse between the divers sects and religions in this country more friendly than it used to be; has not each more regard for the other, while adhering more strongly than ever to its own creed? Is not this to be ascribed to the missionaries, who pass from one to the other, and cause them to compare their views, or at least investigate them; who, by their very attacks, as you call them, have done good, by forcing the attacked to look to their position and resources? The Muslimin, the very Jews, have grown more tolerant; they never stone me now as heretofore. Strange indeed if, where faith assails faith in the name of Allah, Allah Himself should by that means produce general toleration, and an end to proselytising! Yet that is what is happening, it seems to me. The assaults of the Catholics and the Protestants upon your Church have revived her. Her priests are better in their lives; they begin to be educated; and, as a consequence, she holds her ground. I submit to thee that we have made few, if any, converts from you in the last ten years."
"That is true," said Mîtri, greatly interested; "and by my life thou speakest like an angel. Nevertheless, there is but one true Church on earth; would that I might convince thee of her authority!… But thou eatest nothing! Taste this sweetstuff, I entreat thee; it is quite a delicacy!"
The rest of the company, finding the argument beyond them, were talking among themselves in lower tones. Only Abdullah, as a sometime dragoman, kept near the missionary, interrupting his speech with senseless scraps of English, all eagerness to translate for him the words of Mîtri, till the latter stopped him with a curt "Be silent, fool!" And Iskender also hung upon the missionary, waiting an opportunity to inquire for the young Emîr. On a pause he thrust in his question; when the missionary, who had been smiling at a joke of Mîtri's, became of a sudden very grave.
"He lies at the gate of death," was his answer. "The doctor doubts if he will pass this night; but if he sees to-morrow's light, it means that he will live, in sh' Allah!"
"May Allah preserve the poor young man!" said Mîtri, and resumed the controversy.
But Iskender heard no more. He slipped out, unobserved, into the night, and stole down the sandy road through cloud-like orange-groves to where the sandhills rolled beneath the stars.
Iskender walked all round the low garden-wall of the Mission, staring through the feathery cloud of the tamarisks at the upper windows of the house, till he saw a light in one of them, when he sat down on his heels and watched it doggedly. He feared the blame which would attach to himself were the Emîr to die; still more the reproaches of his own mind; but above all things he was conscious of a return of his old devotion to the fair-haired stranger. He recalled the Frank's many kindnesses—in particular the splendid paint-box, which remained Iskender's own—and, sobbing, prayed from the heart that he might live. The hooting of an owl, or the bark of some dog in the distance, alone broke the stillness, of which the rustle of the tamarisks seemed part, so faint and vague it was. At moments, looking up at the stars, he could have deemed them living creatures, for they seemed to throb in time with his own grief.
He knew not how long he had sat there in the darkness unafraid, when the light in the room was moved. A chill smote his heart. He jumped over the wall and drew nearer, in the hope to catch some word of what was going on in there. Inside the hedge of tamarisk the air was sweet with flower scents, which floated thick and separate on the still air, like oil on water. He came beneath the window. The light was once more steadfast; so again he sat down on his heels and waited. Presently the tamarisks were distributed by a cold breeze; they sighed aloud; the stagnant perfumes of the garden were confused and scattered; a whiteness came upon the wall before him, and the windows in it gave a pallid gleam. Having no desire to be caught lurking there by one of the servants, he was on the point of departing, when the light in the window was again moved, and while he stood in wonder what such movements of the light portended, a door close by him opened, and the Sitt Hilda came out into the garden. She was weeping silently, with no attempt to hide her tears. Iskender sprang to her.
"He is dead?" he moaned in Arabic. "May Allah have mercy on him!"
"He lives, the praise to Allah!" she replied, and with the words she wept more copiously, and turned from him to smell the clustered flowers of a certain creeping plant against the wall.
Echoing "Praise to Allah!" he withdrew.
She had not recognised him, had heard his question as the voice of Nature. It seemed to him that she had not answered it, but merely sighed aloud her own thanksgiving.
"She loves him!" thought Iskender, with a flush of sympathy.
He found strange rapture in the knowledge of her passion for the fair Emîr, in the prospect of a union of those two whom he had loved most of all people in his former life. They seemed in a sense his creatures, and their love his handiwork. If only he could help them to obtain their heart's desire, could serve their happiness by any means, and get forgiveness, he felt that he could enter on his new life without one regret.
Each morning and evening Iskender walked upon the sandhills until he met with some one coming from the Mission who could give him the latest tidings of the Emîr. His mother spied him once from her house-door, and indulged in furious gesticulations to the effect that he must fly for his life. When he gave no heed she shook her fist at him, and opened her mouth wide to utter something, the sense of which was lost in the distance. She even came to his lodging, stealthily as of wont, and implored him never to walk again so near the Mission. It stopped her breath, and caused her deathlike palpitations to behold him there. The hatred of those children of abomination was so rank against him, that they might hurt his body. At the least they would wound his soul with indignities which she could not bear to think of for her boy.
"Hilda is the only one of them with any kindness; and she, I know, is always in the sickroom; she never now goes out beyond the garden. The mother of George is absent; the preacher Ward has gone again. The others! They are known for devils, and they hate thee! What madness in thee to approach their house!"
When Iskender only laughed, she wrung her hands despairingly, and asked her Maker for deliverance from such a madman. Her apprehensions proved, however, quite unfounded.
The ladies Carûlîn and Jane were touched by Iskender's solicitude, and noticed him when passing on the road. Costantîn the gardener answered his demands, though grudgingly; and Asad told him all he wished to know. The last named even condescended to remonstrate with Iskender on his change of faith, displaying the interest of a cultivated observer in the motions of some curious wild creature.
"I am a son of the Arabs," was Iskender's invariable answer, "and have no wish to seem to be a Frank. My religion teaches me to remove my hopes and ambitions from this world; and Allah knows I have experienced enough of its vicissitudes. All I ask now is leave to live and die in peace."
"That is beautiful, what thou sayest!" Asad would rejoin with his superior smile. "But wait a month or so till thou hast survived thy present grievance; then wilt thou wish that thou hadst done as I have. For, only think! I am to be sent to the land of the English to perfect my studies. There I shall take care to ingratiate myself with the great ones of their Church, and to wed some noble lady of their race; that, when I return hither, these people may be forced to treat me with respect, and no longer as their servant and inferior. I shall be a great khawâjah, receiving perhaps two hundred English pounds every year, whereas thou canst hope to be no more than a humble toiler at some trade or other. With the exercise of but a little self-control, thou mightst have been all this instead of me. Hadst thou but heard the voice of my good counsel, much might have been preserved to thee. Even now I would have helped thee for old friendship's sake. In the day of my power which is to come, in sh' Allah, it would have been easy to procure for thee the post of a teacher in some school or of lay-reader in some lesser mission. But thy espousal of a barbarous superstition, which no civilised and cultured person can so much as tolerate, has put it quite beyond my power to serve thee."
Iskender hardly listened to such talk. His mind found business in its own devices. He would have chosen to avoid the speaker altogether; but even Asad's unconcerned announcements, sandwiched in between gibes at the Orthodox faith were better than no tidings of his former patron. And Asad always lay in wait for him, delighting to dazzle one so downcast with the vision of his own high future. One morning he said:
"The uncle of the convalescent is expected to arrive to-day. He has come all the way from Lûndra on hearing of his dear one's illness. It seems that thy sometime patron was ordered by the physicians to visit Masr, his health being weak. Growing weary of that land, where he knew no one, and wishing to extend his travels, he came on here and made the friends we know. This uncle, who is his nearest relative, cared not whither he went, so only that he was gaining health and strength; but hearing that his beloved lay at death's door, he hastened hither, mad with grief and rage. The Father of Ice has received from him a thousand costly telegrams, which demonstrate sufficiently his mind's disorder. It were well for thee to keep out of his way, for he will certainly vow thy destruction when he has heard the story."
After this warning Iskender saw no more of Asad for three days, the clergyman-designate being called upon to help in the housework. But he continued to walk near the Mission at sunrise and sunset; and at last, one evening, going there as usual, he found Asad sitting, Frank-wise, on a chair before the gate, devouring chunks of the sweetment called baclâweh, which the cook had given him. Espying the son of Yâcûb from afar, the friendly youth sprang up in great alarm and waved him off with frantic gestures, sweets in hand.
"Allah preserve thee, O Iskender; go back, O rash one! Did not I tell thee not to come again? Only to approach the house is certain death. The uncle of the poor sick man has sworn to drink thy blood, or at all events to beat thee senseless, in payment for the way thou didst beguile his nephew." Asad sat down again upon the chair, and ate another mouthful, then pursued: "The young man now is so much better that he is able, with assistance, to pace the garden. Yesterday it was the Sitt Hilda who supported him; but to-day it is the furious uncle, and the Sitt Hilda has red eyes. The uncle thinks her not well-born enough, or else too poor, to mate with his dear nephew. The young man has tired himself with pleading; but the old man locks his heart. And I am glad, for I myself would not object to marry Hilda when I am in holy orders. She is plump and shy and has fresh ripe-fruit cheeks that I should like to bite. Thou thyself didst love her once, I am aware; and Allah knows thou mightst in the end have enjoyed her by the exercise of a little self-control, by waiting humbly, as I do, till they made a priest of thee. At least, if I succeed in getting her, the Father of Ice, to whom she is like a daughter, will no longer be able to despise me, and keep me in dependence."
In spite of his first announcement of tremendous danger, Asad detained Iskender by the gate for nearly an hour, talking with him openly in full sight of the house. His discourse was chiefly of women, concerning whom he developed ideas purely cynical. He said that the daughters of the country were the more appetising, but that he himself would choose a daughter of the English to increase his consequence. If she possessed wealth or good looks, so much the better; but she must be English, and of an honourable house. As an English missionary, with an English wife of good family, how he would lord it here on a stipend of two hundred pounds a year! Iskender, being deep in thought of something else, made an excellent listener. Asad presented him with a small piece of baclâweh.
"At what hour does the Emîr take his pleasure in the garden?" Iskender asked at parting from that child of promise; leaving Asad to suppose he put the question out of caution, to the end that he himself might shun the Mission at that hour.
"Between the fourth and fifth after noon," was the reply. "But avoid the house altogether, if thy life is precious to thee! The foe, I tell thee, is a seasoned warrior, a drinker of blood from his birth."
From all that Asad had let fall, two facts shone forth: that the Emîr was mad in love with the Sitt Hilda, and that he was oppressed by his cruel uncle. Iskender mused on these, seeing a chance to help him and obtain forgiveness.