No sooner was the Pasha gone than Umm ed-Dahak crept back softly to her mistress and cooed of consolation in her ear. Muhammad, who had started howling out of sympathy, she told to go and play with GhandÛr’s son.

“By Allah, it is all my fault, not thine,” she whispered. “I ought to have foreseen this grief and warned thee. Vex not thy soul at all! It is no matter! Praise be to Allah, we can change our policy. To-morrow thou wilt beat thy son a little, and all the world will praise thy management.”

But the mother’s tears were flowing less from sense of guilt than for the helplessness, the lack of energy, which she discovered in herself at such a crisis. The call to make an effort paralysed her; she hung on Umm ed-Dahak like a frightened child, agreeing with loud sobs to the old woman’s statement that on the morrow they would make a new beginning.

That afternoon the little boy had been invited to Gulbeyzah’s house. His mother being too unwell to bear him company, he started off on foot in the custody of GhandÛr. Barakah adjured him to be very good and mind his manners, on which he kissed her with a most angelic smile.

“See how obedient and how good he is!” she wailed, her anguish breaking out afresh when he was gone. “How can they say he is not well brought up?”

“Without a doubt they have been misinformed,” cooed Umm ed-Dahak. “They have mistaken some exceptional disorder for his general conduct Ma sh´Allah! With but a touch of discipline, a very little teaching of good manners, thou wilt make him glorious, a pattern to all other children of this age.”

But Muhammad, who had set forth as an angel, returned a little devil, in a sullen rage. He would not speak a word, refused all nourishment, and sat aloof with frowning brows and gnashing teeth. GhandÛr, who brought him home, had sent in word that he had been a naughty boy and needed punishment. So GhandÛr also was his mother’s enemy.

Muhammad struck at all the women who came near him. He swore by the Most High to ravish every one of them, to tear their eyes out and cut off their hands and feet. The servants laughed at his ferocious impotence, which made things worse. When his mother came and knelt beside him, he at first repelled her; but after half an hour’s incessant coaxing she elicited his cause of grief.

He had been pretending in his play to kill Gulbeyzah’s little girl—“not really hurting her,” he blubbered, “though she shrieked like a dying fowl”—when all at once, without the slightest provocation, a big boy assailed him, flung him down and knelt upon him, pinning his two hands. While he was in that position the ladies of the harÎm had come in and reviled him, praising his cruel persecutor as a hero. They had then conveyed him, kicking, to GhandÛr, who, like the beast he was, believed their lies.

“It is no matter, O beloved! Dry thy tears! Never—never shalt thou visit that unfriendly house again,” his mother whispered.

Muhammad hiccuped on a sob, “Wallahi!” and fell again to gnashing of his teeth and moaning.

“See!” murmured Umm ed-Dahak. “See his dauntless spirit! By Allah, it is true, he must be tamed a little.”

That night he cried himself to sleep, and in the morning was snappish and morose, with furtive eyes. About the fourth hour of the day his mother missed him, and having sought through all the house in vain, conceived grave fears. She sent a eunuch to the Pasha’s palace, while GhandÛr cried the tidings through the quarter. Distraught with grief, she ran from room to room in the hottest hours of the day, always expecting to find Muhammad hiding somewhere. At last she sank down on a couch, exhausted.

The third hour after noon, as she was lying thus, Gulbeyzah and her durrahs were announced. They entered with much tragic exclamation. Then the truth was known. Muhammad had repaired that morning to their house and joined the children’s games, appearing friendly. But he was only waiting for his chance of vengeance; for, luring Gulbeyzah’s little girl apart, he stabbed her with a dagger he had got—the Lord knew how!—and cried to her big brother, “Thy account, O tyrant!”

His victim—praise to Allah—was not killed; nor even, by His mercy, maimed for life; but the ensuing uproar in the house may be imagined. The murderous child had been imprisoned in a room apart; the lord of the harÎm, when summoned, had sent at once for YÛsuf Bey, who was even now examining the culprit. Directly the responsibility had been lifted off them, they (the ladies) had flown straight to Barakah to assure her of their unimpaired affection. But—merciful Allah!—what was the world coming to? They sought refuge in Allah from such revengeful fury in so small a child.

“You must have used him very cruelly,” the mother cried. “He is by nature the most generous of children, not a criminal!”

At that, all four began to talk at once. Barakah talked against them, and the slave-girls and dependants, looking on, raised cries. The argument was at its height when YÛsuf was announced. The din ceased instantly. The four Circassians raised their mouth-veils in alarm and slipped away; the servants, silenced, went into another room.

YÛsuf entered, stern of countenance, dragging by the arm the peccant boy, whose mouth hung open, while his eyes stared wildly, fixed in the imbecility of abject fear.

Barakah fell down at her husband’s feet and screamed for mercy. He was obdurate.

“Let be, O woman!” he commanded. “My child, as trained by thee, is now a malefactor. He robs and kills; he breaks the law of hospitality. He stole a weapon from GhandÛr, his foster-father, and with it stabbed a little girl, whose guest he was. Henceforth I take him from thee, and give him to my mothers to be educated. Seek not to counteract their efforts, or by the Ca’abah I will beat thee soundly as I now beat him.”

With that, he marched his son into an inner room, whence presently there issued sounds of blows and bitter wailing. Barakah ground her face upon the floor and stopped her ears.

Muhammad, by his father’s orders, was shut off from her that night; and the next morning, before YÛsuf went to business, the Pasha’s harÎm carriage came to fetch the child. The eunuch brought a letter from MurjÂnah KhÂnum, inviting Barakah to come and give her counsel. But Barakah’s sole answer was an angry cry.

For several days she would not budge from her own rooms, refused to see the Pasha’s ladies when they called, and persisted, notwithstanding every argument, in posing as the victim of most foul injustice. And Umm ed-Dahak coaxed and soothed her all that while. At length, one day, MurjÂnah KhÂnum entered, unannounced; and Barakah, in act to rise and make indignant protest, was silenced by the sight of her own child.

“Go, O Muhammad, do what I have told thee,” said the old lady, with her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Whereat Muhammad went up gravely and bowed over his mother’s hand to kiss it, but she caught him in her arms, preventing him. He called out to MurjÂnah KhÂnum that it was not fair, and struggled to get free. She put him down, when he went on with his polite performance, kissed her hand and pressed his forehead to it, inquired after her health and asked her blessing; and then in the most courtly Arabic asked what he had done that one of his parents, who were dearer to him than all living creatures, should punish him by five days of avoidance.

“The harÎm of my grandfather, Muhammad Pasha SÂlih, depute me to request that thou wilt honour us this day and every day with thy most gracious presence, O my mother.”

Before the termination of this speech and ceremony, Barakah was lying on her face in tears. She had thought, through the long hours of deprivation, that they were teaching her own child to disregard, if not to hate her. The relief was great. MurjÂnah sat beside her and caressed her, while Muhammad, standing reverently, looked concerned.

They took her with them in the carriage to the Pasha’s house, where, instead of reprobation, she met boundless sympathy. The ladies Fitnah and MurjÂnah told her all that had been done for the small boy, with evident anxiety for her approval. Muhammad showed her all the harÎm pets. He bade a slave-girl bring his own white doves. She brought three in her bosom. At his call, they flew to him and settled on his head and shoulders. There dwelt a parrot in the house of Na’imah, a monkey in the house of Fitnah KhÂnum, which she had to visit; as well as roving cats, and little birds in cages, and several street-dogs who came round for food. He also showed with pride his plot of garden, consisting of a box of scented herbs. And all the while that she was in the house, he waited on her like a page, kissing her hand whenever he could get a chance, and telling her the joy he felt in seeing her. When, left alone with him, she strove to whisper consolation, he shook his head decidedly, and told her: “O my mother, I have learnt to know that I was very wicked. Thou wast ever much too gentle and too kind with me. Allah knows how much I love thee—my grandmothers have taught me that—but it is well that I should be removed from thee a while and brought to reverence. It is not right that one so delicate as thou art should have a rough, ill-mannered boy to vex her.”

He loved her more than ever, it appeared, but thought her not much wiser than himself.

Her fear of the stern rules of El IslÂm was tamed by reverence.

“By Allah, they are like the string and we the beads,” said Umm ed-Dahak, holding up a rosary to point her meaning. “Thirty-three beads of no intrinsic worth. If scattered, useless and soon lost. If strung together, a comely instrument of praise to God.”

Barakah watched Muhammad with humility; not jealous of the change which had been wrought by others, but choosing to regard it as a miracle direct from Heaven. His pride, once wayward, now was focused on his coming manhood. He told her all his thoughts, which seemed to her most wise. He waited on her hand and foot when in her presence. Yet in this deference there was a touch of condescension which was absent from the honour which he paid to YÛsuf. His father was his sovereign, she his tender care. Such wisdom in so small a child appeared miraculous. She worshipped his perfections while he bowed before her.