Impelled more by shame than prudence, Hassan Agha lay perdue with his men two days and nights after his outwitting by the garrison of El CÛds. The hours of sunlight were spent in lounging about the village of Zeyd’s wife’s relation, sitting smoking in the shade of the olive yards, or under screen of a rock in the wady; glozing over their defeat until, to the mind’s eye, it wore the hue of misfortune, and they were no more shamed.

At break of the third day, when Hassan awoke and stretched himself, his host, already afoot, announced his mind to go presently to the city and visit Zeyd, the son of AbbÂs. His desire was not, he confessed, so much to see Zeyd himself, who was a poor man like another, as to greet once more that holy one by whom his house was honored, to inquire of his health and obtain his blessing.

“Thy desire is my own,” said Hassan, yawning audibly. “Wait a little and we will go together, thou and I and all my people.”

A little later, the peasant having mounted a light-colored ass, they rode over the hill, a goodly company. Every one of Hassan’s band was there, not excepting the Thief, who instead of boots wore bandages, tied for him by Ali, who boasted some skill in surgery.

“What? You return to school, all of you?” cried a soldier in the city gate. “Is it possible that you need a second lesson?”

Masking discomfort beneath a genial smile, Hassan cried peace on the merry rogue.

The street within was crowded, obliging them to ride slowly in single file. The sun, risen clear of the roofs, was hot overhead; and the honeycomb of whitish stone seemed an oven constructed on purpose to retain and diffuse the heat. It was hotter than high noon, for noon is ever tempered by some breeze.

They rode to the khan and there dismounted, stabling their horses with the aid and blessing of a ragged hostler. The host came forth likewise and blessed them. By Allah, it enlivened all things to behold them once again. What had become of the excellent sheykh, their friend? His horse, his two mules, and the donkey of his companion were yet, they might see, in the stable. But for three whole days, to-day the fourth, he had not been vouchsafed a glimpse of the sheykh himself. True, an old negro whom he knew not—a taciturn black dog—had come yesterday and brought him money on the sheykh’s behalf. But he was not one to think only of gain. By Allah, no! He liked to see his patrons each day, to exchange greetings with them, and assure himself they were happy.

“Doubtless we shall find him by the sanctuary,” suggested Shibli, in an undertone; whereupon, taking leave of the host, they trooped toward the Sacred Close. In their midst, Zeyd’s wife’s relation carried a jar of dried fruits and a bag of olives for an offering to the saint’s glory.

Outside the circuit hallowed from of yore, near the foot of a flight of steps, sat a very aged man in converse with another not so old. The pair sat crosslegged against the wall of a fair white shrine whose shadow covered them. Hard by, a withered tree veined the ground with deep, blue shade.

“It is the Chief of the Learned!” exclaimed Shibli, with bated breath. Running forward, he did obeisance to the elder of the two seated. The younger rose in acknowledgment of the civility.

“Who is there, O my brother?” quavered the sage, whose eyes were dim. “Who is he that hails me thus by name? My ears detect the footsteps of a crowd. Doubtless they are pilgrims to the sanctuary—none like it under heaven, save only the House of God which is in Mekka. The mercy of Allah upon you, O true believers! Forgive me though I remain seated. I am old and somewhat feeble, O my children.”

But when Shibli humbly submitted that they were not come now as pilgrims, but simply in quest of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn, that old man put off the divine, exclaiming with interest:

“You seek that good man, that marvel of instruction? You are his companions of the road? Then are you entitled to a second welcome from me. You ask, where is he now? Ah, of that I cannot certify you. Within this hour he left me—he and the poor man who cleaves to him, and a white-beard Ethiopian, his servant—saying he would go and visit his daughter’s grave.”

“Is the girl then dead and buried?” the Circassians murmured of consternation.

“Have you not heard? Like many of our human ills, it is in truth a blessing. For had Allah granted life to that girl, our friend had deemed her rescued by the Frank, and so been confirmed in an error of which I strove oft to disabuse him, namely: that it can be lawful to frequent an obstinate unbeliever and to put faith in him—aye, even a faith beyond that in one’s own kindred, making him the keeper of a young girl that was a virgin, ascribing to him that power of life and death which is the prerogative of God alone. Have we not cause to rejoice that so great and insidious an error is rooted out ere it could corrupt the heart of a man the best that draws breath?

“I praise Allah hourly for His compassion in enforcing the argument which I, His humble bondman, could not persuade our excellent sheykh so much as to hear with tolerance. His mind is changed, thanks to Allah! He now owns his sin. In return, I invited him to lead the morning prayer.... Praise to Allah!... But what is here? What wouldst thou?”

Zeyd’s wife’s relation, hearing such heavenly words, and weary of forever carrying a pot of dried fruits and a bag of olives, had laid those gifts at the sage’s feet, himself with them in prayer for their acceptance.

“What is this? Thou bringest gifts—thou whose speech is of the poorest! The poor inherit the privileges of the rich, who nowadays have forsworn liberality. From the hand of Allah thou shalt get reward. Hereafter thou shalt taste the fruits of paradise, basking in shade, and to the strains of an exquisite music.”

“O Glory! O Holiness! I am thy debtor till the Last Day!” cried the fellÂh, at so rich a promise. Snuffling, with streaming eyes, he went after the Circassians.

Once more they plunged into the city’s stifled ways.

“This is like hunting a partridge among the hills. ‘Here he was a minute since’; and now, behold! he has flitted across the wady. For him but a spread of the wings, for me an hour’s rough walking!” muttered Hassan, wiping his brow. For a pace he strode in silence, frowning moodily. All at once he cried out: “Is that an English physician? I think not, by Allah! The English physician swears by his word, but this dog is a cunning liar. In like manner, seeming most upright, making grave promises, did their knowing ones deliver up our land to the Muscovite. May Allah destroy that nation and blot out the remembrance of it from on earth! Behold us perfectly befooled! May Allah burn that infidel! He received the girl into his house, he made a covenant with us to heal her. He took our gifts, and much money from the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn. And now he has killed the girl. Doubtless he had deflowered her secretly, and so dared not leave her in life.”

From further exposition he was diverted by a cry most bitter, the cry of one struck down by a treacherous blow.

“Woe, woe on me!... The pride of my house—that ancient garment! It is made nothing; it is despised, defiled! It is passed from one dog to another!... O dishonor!... O Lord, let me slay that infidel! O Allah, destroy his house with fire this minute!... Him and the black hog, I will kill them both. Have they not earned death?... Ah, woe! woe!”

NesÌb the Thief had broken away from the cherishing arm of Ali, his sworn brother, and now stood unsteadily, with hands upraised to a strip of sky, shrieking curses and blubbering by turns. His face was convulsed with anguish. Ali hovered near with soothing words, ready to catch the rocking cripple should he fall.

“Right is with the Thief,” cried Hassan loudly. “It is one thing to be fooled by Abd-ur-Rahman—a child of our house; but by an unbeliever, with whom we dealt too honorably, that is quite another. For the name of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn, for our own good name, it behooves us to take vengeance. Y’Allah! To his house, O my children.”

Already upon the shouting, strange forms had come about them, strange voices asked of the matter. When, at Hassan’s exhortation, they surged onward, a crowd, three parts Christian, of facile sympathizers went with them. The Thief, still weeping passionately, submitted once more to the tender solicitude of his sworn brother. The aged relative of Zeyd ebn AbbÂs had disappeared.

They had not far to go. One quiet alley and a short tunnel brought them into the way which led past the door of the Frank. In the manner of a stone rolled downward, they gained momentum from the fact of moving. The murmur of their indignation swelled to a roar.

Between the high, blank walls, one light, one shadowed, a solitary man was seen running for dear life. It was the sherbet seller who, finding his quiet lane the highway of a yelling rout, had forgotten his stall of cooling drinks.

The mob swayed and eddied for a moment ere it broke upon the door of the Frank physician. All who could come at it beat upon that door; many more, out of sympathy, beat the surrounding wall.

“Open, open, O cursed heathen! Down with the door! The door yields not. Bring fire. Who has fire?”

A woman’s voice squealed within. The assailants paused to hear what was said.

“What is this, forsooth? Merciful Allah, are these manners? ‘A thousand knock-knock-knocks and no salÂm aleykÛm.’ IsmaÌl is out. I will not open. I shall tell of you to the hakÌm.”

At that the hammering, the shouts, and the yells redoubled, till of a sudden some one cried, “Look up!” and all eyes sought the roof line. There, leaning on the parapet, was the hakÌm himself. He held a gun, not pointed menacingly, but simply, as it seemed, for their inspection.

“Go, or I shoot!” he cried.

Even as he spoke, a knife whizzed so near as to graze his cheek. The muzzles of a dozen guns commanded him. Then some stones flew up; but by that time he was no more seen.

“Ha, ha! He is an old woman, this great hakÌm!” shouted Hassan. “Another kind of English led the fight at Kars. This is no better than some skulking townsman. O shame, to bear the insult of such an one.”

Derisive laughter mingled with the howl of execration. But, realizing that the business was like to go beyond a frolic, many Christians and other chance allies began to edge away.

“Bring fire! Burn the door! Make fire the baw-wÂb!” cried one of the Circassians.

At once the more zealous of his comrades tried to coax a flame by means of foreign matches and rags torn from their own clothing. But already the more lukewarm were dropping off. The sight of some running made others run. The panic became general. Hassan did not hinder the flight. He considered enough had been done for the present to scare the Frank.

“Stop running. Scatter! scatter!” he shouted for their instruction.

In a moment, had the watch appeared, they would have found no mob, but divers groups of men walking inoffensively—nay, timidly—in divers directions. Like a sand storm in the desert of the south, the riot had arisen, raged, and was clean gone, all in a short quarter of an hour.

“Where is our good fellÂh? Where Ali? Where NesÌb?” said Hassan to Shibli, who had clung to him throughout the tumult. “Small wonder if some were swept astray by that sudden blast. Allah pardon! Saw man ever the like of it?”

He proceeded to make inquiry of those he saw stationary in the markets, if anyone had seen a tall old man of a noble countenance, attended by one who seemed a beggar, in all respects, saving only that he did not beg. At last one answered:

“I have seen the very man; and with them a lean old negro who kept grinning without mirth,” and pointed out which road the three had taken.