Fortune favored Churi’s first decision in a very simple way. Two or three nights later Fidá, who had not been in the house of slaves for forty-eight hours, went there to find his young comrade, Ahmed, lying in one corner of the porch, uncovered to the evil air of night, and burning with fever. Another slave, also Arabian, stood near by, regarding the sick boy helplessly. When Fidá appeared, Ahmed, who had lain with closed eyes, heeding nothing, sat up, stretching out his hands to his master. Fidá took them tenderly into his own, and was frightened to feel how hot they were. Wrapping the boy in his cloak, he bent over him, keeping off the swarm of little flies and insects that hovered around, and listening with alarm to the boy’s half-delirious murmurings. Something must be done. He was not to be left in this state. Surely even slaves were given help. And as he cast about, anxiously, for means of assistance, he was addressed by one Chakra, a soldier, who stood looking into the veranda: “If thou couldst bring Churi to the sick boy, he would not die.” “Ah! Churi! Where is he?” cried Fidá. “I will show thee where he lives.” “Come, then!—Nay, better, I will take the boy to him.” Ten minutes later the physician, squatting comfortably in the doorway of his own room, perceived a small group approaching out of the darkness. First came the soldier, quite subdued by Fidá’s peremptory manner; and then Fidá himself, with Ahmed in his arms. Churi got up and went toward them a step or two, peering with his strange eyes. “Thou, Chakra?” said he. “I come with a slave who brings you a boy sick of a fever.” “Oh,” said Churi, recognizing Fidá. “Come into this room.—Is the boy thy son?” he demanded, sharply, of the Asra. “Nay, I have no son,” answered Fidá, calmly. “But this boy is my friend, who followed me into captivity. And he is sick. I fear he is very sick.” They were now inside the room, where two lamps burned. Fidá laid his burden down in a corner, and then, as Ahmed clung to him, sat down beside the boy, who gave a faint moan of satisfaction. The soldier had already gone; and Churi, after a moment’s survey of his two self-invited guests, came over and made a speedy examination. It took little astuteness to perceive that the boy was dangerously ill, with a fever that was common enough at that season of the year. When he was assured of its nature, Churi turned to Fidá, saying: “Let him remain here. I will care for him. But it is not well that thou shouldst also stay. Go, then, and fear not.” Fidá made two or three attempts to release himself from the boy’s hold, Churi watching him. Then Fidá shook his head. “He will not suffer me to leave him.” “I will do it. See.” Churi placed himself immediately in front of the Asra, and laid his hands, with great gentleness, where those of the Mohammedan had been. Ahmed, drowsy with fever, did not notice the change. “Now go, softly,” commanded Churi, in a whisper, and Fidá obeyed.