Shems-ud-dÌn now divided his days between the house of the physician and that tomblike cell; and the two scenes overlapped and obscured one another, becoming confounded in his imagination. In those days his thoughts but brushed our earth as with the skirt of an outer robe. The Angels of Life and Death were his elect companions. When, repairing at nightfall to the khan, he descried known faces, met the outcry of condolence, it was with the blindness of a sun gazer, with the deafness of one long a stranger to men’s talk.

Yet, even in the deep of anguish there were moments when he saw and heard; and those moments showered gold in the lap of Zeyd ebn AbbÂs, his dog-like attendant. They repaid the hours which the whilom owner of a playful camel had spent in silence at his feet; the times when, unthanked, unperceived, Zeyd had guided his master’s steps through the crowd.

These brief communings with his lord, which were all the wages of Zeyd, took place generally at the cell on the edge of the close, where Shems-ud-dÌn seemed most content. The fellÂh too loved that spot above all others of the city. Squatting in the sunshine of that holy place, near by a world-famed shrine, himself the guardian of a saint, he was conscious of laying up a store of sanctity, of pious memories, to sustain him through the rest of life. When the aged MahmÛd Ali came, as often happened, to observe and bemoan the sad case of a fellow-sage, he never failed to bless Zeyd and praise his fidelity. So that that simple man cried in his soul:

“How great my happiness! Behold, I grow daily in goodness, without effort, even as flowers grow, through converse with such holy ones. They scorn me not as do the Circassians, who, therefore, it is well seen, are but low people.”

At the house of the Frank physician, while Shems-ud-dÌn remained in the sick room, Zeyd was accustomed to sit with MÂs and IsmaÌl the doorkeeper in the little court. But the two old negroes were not instructive; their happiness consisted in holding one another’s hand and smiling foolishly. Zeyd’s mind, apt to wander from such converse, hung in danger from the charms of a barefaced serving woman, who kept crossing and recrossing the court—of set purpose, he supposed, to entice him. Only by the mercy of Allah did he escape the daily snare of her. As the companion of a great saint, he had taken the pilgrim’s vow of total abstinence.

On an evening when Zeyd sat thus resisting temptation in the company of old MÂs (the doorkeeper having gone forth to drink the air and display a new garment, gift of the Frank his master), Shems-ud-dÌn came down from the place of sickness, showing a countenance far brighter than he was wont to bear.

The two arose and, bowing, put their question; to which he replied:

“The praise to Allah! This morning I dared not rejoice, but this evening, seeing the improvement still maintained, I render thanks to God. Come, O Zeyd, O MÂs, walk with me a little in the streets of the city. Let us view the much merchandise and the throng of men, for my soul is glad within me.”

Upon that MÂs, seeing his master’s soul at ease, ventured upon a petition he had long borne it in his mind to make. Stooping, he touched the hem of Shems-ud-dÌn’s robe, then kissed the hand which had touched it. He exclaimed:

“Deign to hear me, O my lord! I ask a favor—a small thing, far beneath thee. There dwell here in the city many poor men, servants, black like me. These meet together privately to be judged of their sheykh, who is no other than IsmaÌl, the doorkeeper at this house. They seek the right, but as the street dogs seek, whom no man stoops to feed. Their prayer is through me unto thee, O my master, that thou wilt grant them a little instruction. This is the Day of Assembly, when they meet always toward sunset. Vouchsafe to honor them, and I, thy slave, will guide thee to the place.”

“With pleasure and alacrity,” replied Shems-ud-dÌn, and the teeth of the negro gleamed forth in satisfaction.

Forthwith, at his accustomed mooning pace, MÂs set about his preparations. From out a vault, whereof the door stood open, he produced a lantern, which he opened to be sure the candle was not spent. He put a box of Frankish matches within the frame, shut to the glass, and, taking a staff that leaned against the wall, smiled of readiness.

Zeyd, with Shems-ud-dÌn, followed him out into the streets, where forms moved vaguely in rich lights and shadows, like the concourse of a dream.

Zeyd raised his eyes to the sky, a blue eye of love perusing the sun-red city, and his thoughts were a lump in his throat. At length men recognized the holiness of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn; at last they cried to him for light. Surely Allah had smitten the multitude with blindness; certainly the notables of this city, her merchants, her high officials were as blind as their own walls. Allah had put out their eyes, as He had put out those of Hassan Agha the iniquitous and his crew of reprobates. It had been reserved for a poor fellÂh, for a few low negroes, to perceive and welcome the blessing from on high.

They crossed the open space before the tower, where was noise and much people, shadows in an amber glow, and thence passed by dim and quiet ways through the Armenian quarter. Here and there, along the coping of old walls, the leaves of stone plants burned like tongues of flame. A gate yawned on them suddenly, its square tower red in the stream of sunset. It let them out on to the brink of a gorge full of dusty gloom.

MÂs kept to the top of the rocks, close along by the foot of the wall. Following, through deep shadows, Zeyd in mind compared himself to one proved faithful passing, by support of the Prophet, over the hair bridge into Paradise. Between black wall and blue abyss, their path ran, a very thread. The ravines seemed fathomless. The high hills were of the sky, all warmth. The features of the landscape were transfigured, exaggerated, made monstrous with excess of color like an opium dream. Yet though he felt as one poised in mid-air, Zeyd knew no fear; having with him the saint, that enchanter whose mere neighborhood made a seer of the poor fellÂh.

At a turn of the wall, MÂs waited for them to overtake him. There a wide prospect was revealed. Far away, across a darkling sea of ridge and gully, stood a pile all rosy in the sun’s last rays. It was the rampart of their own wild land, which frowns at dawn upon the Sea of Lot. Shems-ud-dÌn stood still to gaze upon that distant splendor. But MÂs plucked his robe.

“Behold the assembly, O my master!”

The stretch of embattled wall seemed of iron, bounding a hearth of colored fires. It cast such gloom upon the rocks, that Zeyd must look twice ere he discerned the white of turbans and men’s raiment near at hand.

“Great honor is on all of you!” cried MÂs, as he moved on. A group of men, set in circle upon a grass-clad crown of rock beneath the wall, rose as one and did obeisance with words of blessing.

“Pursue your business, I entreat you,” said Shems-ud-dÌn graciously, taking seat with them. “Let not my presence trouble you. I would listen awhile before I speak.”

After some polite demur, the blacks resumed their conference; and Shems-ud-dÌn listened with interest, but the mind of Zeyd turned again to the contemplation of its own blessedness.

One of the circle, who was called the Pearl, told with much childish lamentation how he had been wrongfully accused of theft, and beaten by his master. “I know well the thief,” he blubbered. “And my back is sore. I would see him punished. Is it right that I inform my master?”

Then their head, that was the doorkeeper of the Frank physician, stroked his beard and answered thoughtfully:

“To steal is not good. Where I was born, they cut off the right hand of him who steals. But here it is otherwise. Here be many thieves, very wicked men.... Inform not against thy fellow-servant, now that thy trial is past. In the moment of pain it had been well enough to name him. Thou art young, O Pearl, and strong, none like thee. Take that thief apart, and beat him even as thou wast beaten, that he sin no more.”

When the negroes ceased to praise God for that wise judgment, another cause was brought forward. But Zeyd heard no more. Watching the blush fade upon those distant heights, the wall of his own land, he sat entranced by the mystery of being.

The buzz of voices ceased. He heard as if in a dream the voice of IsmaÌl say:

“Deign now to instruct us, O master!”

“It is I who have received instruction, O thou Locman of this age,” replied Shems-ud-dÌn; and the tones of his voice unclosed Zeyd’s consciousness, like the sun’s touch on a flower. “Allah is with you simple ones. Verily the mercy of Allah is the free spring of the poor.”

And he continued speaking of the mercy of Allah in such splendid terms that Zeyd caught fire at them and seemed inspired, he also crying: “Hear him!” “O Allah!” “O Lord!” “His mouth is gold!” “Praise to Allah!” “I faint!” “I die!” moaning and sighing gustily like one possessed.

The end of the speech was for Zeyd like a dazed awakening. He saw the negroes rise, a dark mass, and heard them praise Allah for that grand discourse. Then he saw MÂs with the lantern lighted, and thereby knew that it was night and time to move.

The light danced and wavered before him, a thing unreal. They were back in the heart of the city ere he knew they had passed the gate. MÂs and the sheykh of the negroes stalked on ahead, the lantern between them. Zeyd himself followed close upon Shems-ud-dÌn. All at once he remembered that they were going now to the khan, to the companions, and a sudden jealousy inflamed him.

He said, “O my master, where is the youth Shibli, thy disciple? This day makes the second that he has not been near thee. He grows bad with the Circassians, who set their minds to corrupt him.”

“Hassan Agha has much business. And it is natural that Shibli should desire to see the city in his company.”

“And thy son. May Allah guard me from begetting one like him. Since the day of our arrival he has not once visited thee.”

“Doubtless he has been at the khan in my absence.”

“Not so, for I have made inquiry.”

“He has his duties, and the pleasures of his age. He is young, I am old. In distress I ask no company save thine, O kind one!”

“May Allah requite thee, O my dear lord!”

At the house of the Frank, Shems-ud-dÌn entered with the negroes for the purpose of complimenting the physician upon the improvement wrought in Alia. After a very little while he rejoined Zeyd, who at once felt a change in his demeanor.

“What is there new, O my master?”

“The hakÌm, that excellent man, assures me that my daughter cannot live.”

Zeyd laughed, a short and angry laugh. “Is he then Allah?” he asked scornfully.

But Shems-ud-dÌn no longer heard him.