"What signifies his work? There is little enough to do here now, and more than time enough to do it in." Hagop Selferian, who was at work, stood up from his board, wiped his brow, and threw on his jacket. "Yes, I will go," he said. Shushan remained with the women and children, and shared the pillav that formed their early meal, afterwards helping Josephine Hanum in her pleasant household tasks. But, as time passed on, she grew increasingly anxious. "I wonder the zaptiehs do not come back," she said. It was now between ten and eleven in the forenoon. Josephine Hanum went to the window that looked out upon the street. "There is no sign of them," she said. "But here comes my husband." He crossed the court and came in, looking pale and frightened. "My father?" Shushan breathed, only one cause of distress occurring to her mind. "He is well. But there is an army on the slope of the hill. In the town, the minarets are black with men, and the roofs of the Turkish houses with women and children. Jesus help us, what is going to happen?" "I would give my right hand to have you back in the Mission House, Oriort Shushan," said Josephine Hanum, looking at her guest in a sort of despair. "Hagop, dost think thou couldst bring her there?" Selferian shook his head. "It is not _my_ life I think of," he said. "Wife, I met in the street that Syrian who used to work with me, Mar Tomas. He had a black turban on, and was hurrying to his church. He is a Roman Catholic, you know. It seems there is an order that all Christians who are not Armenians are to go to their churches, and stay there all the day. And they are not to let a single Armenian cross the threshold, at their peril." Here Krikor, the eldest boy, came running in. He had been up on the roof. "Father, mother, come up," he said. "Come and look. Such a wonderful sight you never saw!" "A sight that bodes no good to us. What is it, boy?" "Oh, so much, father! I could never tell you. Come and look." All four mounted the stairs that led to the flat roof. The younger children followed them, eager to see. The slope of the hill above them glittered with Turkish and Kourdish soldiers, the gay dresses of the latter lending animation to the scene, and the swords and bayonets of all flashing in the sunlight. Every point at which the Armenian Quarter could be entered bristled with soldiers drawn up in battle array, while behind them surged and swayed a savage mob, men and boys, and even young children amongst them. All were armed, many with guns, the rest with daggers, knives or bludgeons. In the Turkish Quarter the housetops swarmed with women; and above the confused noises of the great city, above the hoarse murmurs of the soldiers and the mob, was heard their peculiar throat-sound, called the Zilghit: "Tchk, Tchk, Tchk, Tchk," which means, "Go, men, and fight for Mahomet. We are with you." White to the lips, Selferian turned to the women. "This means death," he said.