'This woman also had a trusted friend, to whom she told the story, under vows of secrecy, and so on, with the consequence that that same evening the priest received a deputation of the village elders, who requested, in the name of the community, to be allowed to kiss the feet of his mysterious son--that little, rainbow-coloured bird, which had a horn upon its head and played the flute. 'The priest said nothing to his wife. He did not beat her. He gave her but one look. And yet from that day forward, she never plagued him any more, but was submissive.' 'The priest was wise on that occasion, yet so foolish in the other story!' I objected. 'The way of the majority of men!' said Suleyman. 'But women are more uniformly wise or foolish. A happy night!' said Suleyman conclusively, settling himself to sleep. The usual night-light of the Syrian peasants--a wick afloat upon a saucerful of oil and water--burned upon the ground between us, making great shadows dance upon the walls and vaulting. The last I heard before I fell asleep was Rashid's voice, exclaiming: 'He is a famous liar, is our wise man yonder; yet he speaks the truth!' FOOTNOTES: [5] 'Ya takbar jarak, ya jari!'--a very common cry of grief in Syria. [6] Something like 'Pooh-pooh to you!' but more insulting. CHAPTER VII THE SACK WHICH CLANKED The sand which had been a rich ochre turned to creamy white, the sea from blue became a livid green, the grass upon the sand-hills blackened and bowed down beneath a sudden gust of wind. The change was instantaneous, as it seemed to me. I had observed that clouds were gathering upon the mountain peaks inland, but I had been riding in hot sunlight, only a little less intense than it had been at noon, when suddenly the chill and shadow struck me. Then I saw the sky completely overcast with a huge purple cloud which bellied down upon the land and sea. The waves which had been lisping all day long gave forth an ominous dull roar. White horses reared and plunged. A wind sang through the grass and thistles of the dunes, driving the sand into my face. Rashid, who had been riding far behind, in conversation with our muleteer, came tearing up, and I could hear the shouts of the mukari urging his two beasts to hurry. 'There is a village on the headland over there--a village of Circassian settlers,' cried my servant, breathless. 'It has a bad name, and I had not thought to spend the night there. But any roof is good in such a storm. Ride fast! We may arrive before the downpour.'