"I thank you for accepting it, and beg you not to be angry with me for having been so violent," said Mohammed, entreatingly, as he kissed his mother's extended hand. "Tell me once more, mother, are you well; do you feel no pain?" "I feel well, and am not suffering," said she, regarding him lovingly. 'I should gladly see you indulge yourself in one of your walks to the cliffs or mountains. It is long since you have taken one. I feel better than usual. I shall go to your sick uncle to wait on him, and when I return I shall lie down. You need not fear that I am waiting for you. Go to the mountains, beloved of my heart!" "I shall do so gladly," he cried, embracing and kissing her heartily. He then walked with hasty steps to the door of the hut, and out into the free air. CHAPTER V THE STORY-TELLER "I HAVE done work enough to day," murmured Mohammed to himself, as, after having left his mother, he walked through the dirty suburb to the stairway hewn in the rock that led down to the cliffs. "Yes, I have worked enough, and mother is well; I will therefore go to my paradise, and rest there awhile." He sprang down the stairway and walked hastily toward the cliffs. After looking cautiously around, he crept through the narrow opening in the rocks into the passage. The silence did him good, and a happy smile played about his lips. "Here I am king," he cried, loudly and joyously. "This is my realm, and I shall soon enter my throne- chamber. How have I longed for this, how glad am I!" Suddenly he stood still. "What were Mother Khadra's words?" he asked himself. "'Only he who practises self-denial can enjoy.' Have I not always said to myself that I would accustom myself to want, and learn to enjoy by denying myself that which pleases me? Have I not said that I would not walk on rose-leaves, but learn to tread on thorns, that my feet might become inured to pain? And now, like a foolish child, I am delighted at the prospect of entering my cave, my throne- chamber! 'Only he who practises self-denial can enjoy.' Remember that, Mohammed, and learn to practise self-denial; I will learn it!" he cried so loudly that his voice resounded throughout the entire cave. He turned and retraced his steps. "I would gladly have gone into my cave, would gladly have reclined on my mat, have looked up at the blue sky, and down into the beautiful, sea, that tells me such wondrous stories. Folly! I can hear stories elsewhere. Scha-er Mehsed tells stories, too, and on the whole that is more convenient than to tell them to myself." He walks on hastily, without turning once to look back at his beloved grotto, walks on into the world, to men whom he does not love, and who do not love him. He will learn to practise self-denial, and joyfully he now says to himself: "I am already learning it, and now I can also enjoy." At this moment he observed Tschorbadji Hassan, who had just turned a corner of the street, advancing, followed by his servants.