Abou Seti bowed low, and rejoined, “Now shall I sleep in peace, by the grace of Heaven, and all my people under my date-trees--and all my people?” he added, with an upward look at the Mudir. “But the rentals of the two feddans of land these ten years--thou hast eased thy soul by bringing the rentals thereof?” Abou Seti’s glance fell and his hands twitched. His fingers fumbled with his robe of striped silk. He cursed the Mudir in his heart for his bitter humour; but was not his son in prison, and did it not lie with the Mudir whether he lived or died? So he answered: “All-seeing and all-knowing art thou, O effendi, and I have reckoned the rentals even to this hour for the ten years--fifty piastres for each feddan--” “A hundred for the five years of high Nile,” interposed the Mudir. “Fifty for the five lean years, and a hundred for the five fat years,” said Abou Seti, and wished that his words were poisoned arrows, that they might give the Mudir many deaths at once. “And may Allah give thee greatness upon thy greatness!” “God prosper thee also, Abou Seti, and see that thou keep only what is thine own henceforth. Get thee gone in peace.” “At what hour shall I see the face of my son alive?” asked Abou Seti in a low voice, placing his hand upon his turban in humility. “To-morrow at even, when the Muezzin calls from the mosque of El Hassan, be thou at the west wall of the prison by the Gate of the Prophet’s Sorrow, with thy fastest camel. Your son shall ride for me through the desert even to Farafreh, and bear a letter to the bimbashi there. If he bear it safely, his life is his own; if he fail, look to thy feddans of land!” “God is merciful, and Seti is bone of my bone,” said Abou Seti, and laid his hand again upon his turban. That was how Mahommed Seti did not at once pay the price of the grindstone, but rode into the desert bearing the message of the Mudir and returned safely with the answer, and was again seen in the cafes of Manfaloot. And none of Ebn Haroun’s friends did aught, for the world knew through whom it was that Seti lived--and land was hard to keep in Manfaloot and the prison near. But one day a kavass of the Khedive swooped down on Manfaloot, and twenty young men were carried off in conscription. Among them was Seti, now married to Ahassa, the fellah maid for whom the grindstone had fallen on Ebn Haroun’s head. When the fatal number fell to him and it was ordained that he must go to Dongola to serve in the Khedive’s legions, he went to his father, with Ahassa wailing behind him. “Save thyself,” said the old man with a frown. “I have done what I could--I have sold my wife’s jewels,” answered Seti. “Ten piastres!” said old Abou Seti grimly. “Twelve,” said Seti, grinning from ear to ear. “Thou wilt add four feddans of land to that I will answer for the Mudir.”