It was quite late (for Jerusalem) when Patricia drove home in her friend’s little _arabiyeh_, but the Engelmacher household was still astir. In the drawing-room she found her husband playing cards with the doctor and two other gentlemen, and smoking a Turkish nargileh. The fumes were not unpleasant, so she would not allow him to put it away on her account. Taking the little chair he placed for her, she sat down at his side. She had no desire to watch the play—indeed the very sight of cards was distasteful to her just then; but she liked to be near her husband, and to talk to him between the deals. “There is a letter from your father,” he said, when she had been introduced to Dr. Engelmacher’s friends. “He has been staying at Burstall Abbey, but thinks of coming over here on a visit for a change. He has photographed almost every place of interest in Europe, and would like to add a few Oriental scenes to his collection. You would be pleased to see him, would you not, dear?” “Yes, of course, dear.” She took the letter out of his pocket-book and read it for herself. Lord Torrens did not write often, and his epistles were generally brief and to the point, but this one extended over four pages of closely-written notepaper, and had evidently taken him some time to indite. He said he was longing for a sight of his daughter’s bonnie face; and as he usually concealed his feelings by a mask of cold austerity, Patricia was somewhat surprised. Wrapped up in his books and hobbies, she had always left him severely alone unless he particularly asked for her society. She had never given him credit for the human sympathy which, in spite of his crusty exterior, he undoubtedly possessed. She put the letter back into the envelope as the men threw down the cards in order to partake of the refreshments which Mrs. Engelmacher had thoughtfully provided; for although they had had supper scarcely an hour before, they were already thirsty again. Montella rose and stretched himself with an air of relief. At the same moment there came a violent ringing at the courtyard bell. “_Donner und Blitz!_” exclaimed Dr. Engelmacher, with resentment. “Is the house on fire? Who has the impudence to pull the bell so that it can be heard all over Jerusalem? _Dummkopp!_ Stupidhead! I will tell him so to his face.” He continued to demolish a huge slice of cake, however, with imperturbability, and carefully filled his friends’ glasses with wine. A moment later the door was thrown open with a flourish, and after a brief altercation without, three men appeared on the threshold. The foremost was Ben Yetzel, the Chief Rabbi, in all the glory of his official robes.