All things swam before the Câdi’s eyes. Had Abd-ur-Rahman spoken truth, he was indeed in a nice dilemma. CHAPTER XXV Scourged by his master’s mild reproof of him for loitering, Zeyd needed no second reminder to make haste. With the bounds of a goat he scaled the rocks and ran along by the foot of the city wall. The noble words which had enthralled him to forget duty boomed in his brain, making earth heaven, wrapping him in a cloud of gorgeous imagery. As he neared the gate, a band of soldiers marched out silently, attended by a little horde of ragamuffin Jews and Christians. The arrow of the sheykh, he scarce perceived them, intent only upon the will of his master, to do which was in itself a rapture. He measured not his pace on such an errand, and it was with surprise, when nearing the house of the Frank physician, that he found sweat streaming from every pore. He knocked thrice before anyone answered, and then it was not Ismaìl’s voice, but that of the serving maid, which smote his ear: “Who is there? What would you?” “It is I, Zeyd ebn Abbâs, having an errand to the khawâjah.” “Art thou alone out there? Is it sure there are none beside thee?” “By Allah, it is sure. Who else on earth should there be?” “Then enter and behold the work of thy master. O day of my grief! O wicked day!... The hakìm is not in the house. It is now two hours since he went forth. Allah grant they have not killed him also, the wicked ones!” Thus lamenting, she let Zeyd in. He dared not, for his soul’s weal, glance at her unveiled face. Her sobs and reproaches vexed him. They called for retort, but he dared not parley with the mistress of so great attractions. “Y’Allah! Come and see what thy master has done for us, his benefactors! The hakìm will soon return, in sh’ Allah, and then thou shalt hear truth for once in life. It is two hours since he went out to the house of the consul. Aha, a proper vengeance shall overtake thee and thy master and all thy race of dogs!” She dragged him through into the court. She had the strength of a jinni. Her clutch rent his clothing, which had been ragged enough before. Yet he dared not offer resistance lest, at touch of her, desire should master him. A second voice of woe assailed his ears. It came from the shadowed side of the yard, from out a vault, of which the door stood open. “Go in! Look!” shrieked his conductor, dragging him to that doorway. Zeyd strove after the superior smile of one who humors a madwoman, but his look changed quickly to horror and his hands flew up. There, within, upon a low couch, lay the form of Ismaìl the doorkeeper, stiff in death, the face fixed in a travesty of its wonted kindly grin. The brow seemed to have shrunk away from beneath the turban, the cheeks had sunken; the white beard seemed a growth independent of the chin it fastened on. It was no longer the man, simple yet so wise, whom Zeyd had known and revered, but something derisive, harsh, and terrible, a menace and a curse.