“In what way?” “You will laugh.” “Indeed I will not. Tell me, for I am interested in this Mohammedan Mahdi.” “They expect too much.” “How?” “They say the Mahdi is ten feet high. I told you that you would laugh.” “I apologize. I could not help it.” “They think, also, that he never walks.” “Never walks?” “No; they imagine that he floats whenever he desires to reach any place.” “Anything else?” “Yes; they say that he has the blood of Mahomet in his veins, as well as that of Emin Bey.” “Whom did you say?” “Mahomet.” “Yes, but the other name?” “Emin.” “What Emin?” asked Max, excitedly. Shula was now in his glory, for he, above everything, loved to tell a story, and one story was always entrancing to him. He sipped his sherbet and caused a cloud of tobacco smoke to eddy and curl up to the ceiling before he commenced his story. “It was in the year 1811, as you would call it, that Mohammed Ali determined to destroy the Mamelukes----” “Yes,” interrupted Max, “I know, but what has that to do with the Mahdi?” Shula looked at Max with astonishment. It was as much as to say: “How dare you interrupt me in the midst of a story?” He puffed away at his chibouk, closed his eyes, paused for a minute or so, and then continued: “The Mamelukes attended the banquet to which Mohammed Ali invited them, the portcullis fell behind the last of their splendid army, and they were trapped like rats.” “I know, but one escaped the slaughter.” “One, didst thou say? Yes. Emin spurred his stanch Arabian over a pile of dead and dying. He sprang on the battlements, his horse was killed, but with a shout of _Allah il Allah_, he leaped into the darkness and escaped to the mosque.” Again Shula paused. Max was impatient, and could not wait. “I would give my right hand to find the descendants of Emin,” he said. “Would you?” “Indeed I would.” “Then listen. Emin was wounded. He had entered the mosque without removing his shoes. He pleaded to his own conscience that his wound would excuse his sacrilege. He fell asleep, and as he slept he dreamed--that is, some say so; he declared that he was awake all the time. But he fancied he saw a great ring of light, and in the center, Mahomet, the great prophet. ‘Rise,’ said the prophet, ‘thy wound is healed.’ Emin began to excuse the wearing of shoes in the mosque, but the prophet stopped him. ‘Thy shoes were removed by me,’ he said, and sure enough, Emin was shoeless. ‘Go to the ruins of Thebes and hide thee until I bid thee go to the desert, and there thou shalt stay, thou and thy sons, but thy son’s son shall be the _Imaum_ of his people.’ ‘But,’ said Emin, ‘the _Imaum_ shall be of thy race, illustrious prophet;’ and then the prophet answered: ‘Thou art of my race, thou art blessed, indeed.” Shula called for his servant and ordered him to bring some grapes. Holding a cup, the servant squeezed the grapes until the cup was full of the ruby-colored juice.