The Jinnee stepped back and salaamed, his hands upon his breast. Then he laid a finger upon his lips, for from up-stairs came the wailing outcry of a violin. The Jinnee looked thin and old. His garments hung loose upon his shrunken frame. There was trouble in that house, he told me. The master had wished to send Daoud away. Daoud had refused to go. To leave one's lord when calamity came upon him was to shame one's beard. It was the act of the infidel, not the behavior of the faithful, and Daoud had threatened to shave his beard, put on the dress of a pilgrim, and beg his way from Hyndsville to Mecca. He was even now kneeling upon a prayer-mat reciting a four-bow prayer. As for the master, for two days he had not eaten; he merely swallowed a cup of coffee in the morning because Achmet wept. This afternoon he had fled to his violin for relief. Verily, God was afflicting them! "The bad fortune of the good turns his face to heaven, even as the good fortune of the bad bends his head to the earth. It is the will of God: _Islam_!" said The Jinnee, simply. "I must see Mr. Jelnik, now, this minute! I have news for him," I said hastily. The Jinnee looked doubtful. Plainly, he didn't want his master disturbed, even by me. "I have never seen him like this before," he told me. "Listen!" Came the cries of the violin, heart-rending cries of regret and despair, followed by furious protests; then a nobler grief, and love, and longing. "After a while it will pray for him. Then Satan the stoned, whom may God confound, will depart from him," said Achmet. "But in the meantime I must see him, immediately." "He goes to-morrow. That is why he is afflicted to-day," said The Jinnee. "I think, _hanoum_, he would go without seeing you again. It is a grievous thing to say to one's beloved, 'I leave you.' I have said it. I was young then. I am old now, but I have not forgotten." I unfastened the chain from my neck. A half-coin swung from it as a pendant. "Place this in his hand. It is a sign. It has power to lay the evil spirit which troubles this house," I told him gravely. He seized upon it with an eager hand. "In the name of God!" said The Jinnee, and fairly flew out of the room. A minute later, his violin grasped in one hand, my chain in the other, Nicholas Jelnik appeared. His appearance shocked me. The mask was off; here was stark and naked misery. "Nicholas!" I said, "Nicholas!" "You should not have come!" he said roughly. "Why have you come? I did not want you to see me--thus. Is it not enough for me to suffer?" And he made an impatient, imploring gesture. His lips quivered. "Put aside the violin, Ariel," I said. "But keep the coin." He stiffened, as if he braced himself for further blows. But he laid aside the violin, and with a supreme effort of will got himself in hand. That early training in self-control worked a miracle now. Here was no longer the wild, white-lipped musician, but a pale, proud young man who faced me with stately politeness.