Shems-ud-dìn replaced the skullcap and turban upon the old man’s head. When the frenzy had somewhat abated, he advised him to seek some neighbor’s house; and watched him shuffle off, leaning upon the arm of the tall maid who hid Leylah’s eyes beneath her veil, and had not said farewell. Then he himself strode frowning in search of Milhem. His Excellency sat in the guest chamber of the sheykh’s house, flushed with triumph, the Circassians praising God around him. He was in the course of dictating a report of the affair to the Greek, his secretary, when Shems-ud-dìn stood in the midst and cried shame on him. For one minute he seemed startled. The next he turned his eyes toward the vaulted roof, crying: “Allah witness, it is a child—a little child!” “Now I know why thou wast loath to have me journey with thee. And I confess here, before all these men, that I did wrong not to be ruled by thee then, that I did wrong in cleaving to thee. For great grief is come upon me. My brother, once the best of men, has sinned most heinously, and I am witness of his crime.” “Said I not he was a saint?” said Hassan triumphantly, from somewhere in the background. Milhem frowned, stroking his close beard, then smiled indulgently. “What dost thou know of statecraft? Go, O my brother! and when thou art recovered I will speak with thee,” he said, with some compassion and much dignity. “I go,” said Shems-ud-dìn curtly, and stepped forth once more into the sunlight. That night, as he sat with Hassan in the house, the latter mocked at his grave looks. “Art still vexed about thy brother’s little stratagem? Let not that trouble thee. It is war, thou understandest. The Bedû will take vengeance for this, and we, in turn, shall avenge their vengeance, and so it will go on—in sh’ Allah—till the last day.” “My thought is not of war,” said Shems-ud-dìn. “Know, O Hassan, that I love once more!” And he related his adventure with the old sheykh’s daughter. “O her eyes! O her straight white nose! O the fullness of her cheeks, her chin!... Now tell me, what character does she bear?” “Thou wouldst not wed her, surely?” “I love—that is enough. My life flows out to her. There is but one beloved!” “Ma sh’ Allah!” murmured Hassan, in the utmost consternation. “She is a girl like another. There is nothing told of her. A virgin has no form, no color, no fire, save that one gives to her. For me she is nothing; for thee, much. As for character, she has none, which means she is a young girl.... But reflect, O my dear! When thou returnest to Istanbûl——” “I shall not return.” “Ma sh’ Allah!” muttered Hassan again, and he kept silence a great while, munching his long mustache. At length he said, “I must inform thy brother, my lord the Bey, of this thy decision.” “Tell him,” said Shems-ud-dìn. On the morrow he was roused betimes by Hassan’s hand on his shoulder. “Arise, O my soul, and come with me to my lord the Bey. I have seen him already.”