“Allah knows it is not for pastime that I go.” But Shibli’s delight in the prospect made it bright for him also. Presently, giving his disciple charge of the shop, Shems-ud-dìn issued forth into the sunlight and started to climb a steep and stony path, like the bed of a torrent, which led to his dwelling. Women, gossiping at their doors, blessed him by name as he passed, and inquired tenderly concerning the health of his dear one. The sun, sinking down upon the hilltop, dazzled his eyes. Hope, renewed, opened the gates of his mind, even as his despondency had shut them fast, to things around him. He noticed the lizard basking in the sunshine, the tuft of hyssop growing between the stones. His house stood highest of all in the little city, close upon the hill of ruins. He had himself planned and superintended its building long ago, so that there was none like it for size and nobility of aspect. Before the wide open arch which was the entrance hall, upon a terrace of rolled mud—which seemed a parade ground, but was in fact but the roof of the house below—an old negro was standing in a posture of some dejection, gazing wistfully at the heights beyond the wady. He started at his master’s approach, and answered the question about Alia with a despairing grin. Shems-ud-dìn passed into the house. Very softly he opened a door. The room within was darkened. What light stole in through chinks in the shutters revealed but vague outlines. “How is she?” he whispered. “As always. She has not slept.” Some one arose in the gloom and came to him. “Who is it?” wailed a fretful voice from the floor. “O Fatmeh, who is it? Bid him depart.” Shems-ud-dìn went and knelt beside the sufferer. “See, O beloved! I have brought thee a thing thou lovest well—some of thy chosen perfume!” “I love it not. I hate it! I hate everything! O Allah, kill me quickly!... I would sleep. O Fatmeh, take my father away that I may sleep.” Fatmeh followed the sheykh to the door, and clutched his robe. “Hear me, O my lord!” she whispered. “She is not better; she cannot sleep. What can one do? I will tell thee. Be not wroth with thy servant. There is a tree not far from here—a good tree and efficacious, for all thy frowns—one that has healed thousands. Let me tear off a strip from her finest garment and go myself and hang it on the tree. So, in sh’ Allah, she will be healed and no one know the manner of her healing. Cast me not off. Hear only, I entreat thee. Let us make but trial of the tree. How can it be a bad tree? Did not Allah make it with the others?” “Be silent!” said Shems-ud-dìn sternly. “Allah forbid that one of my house should commit so great an impiety!” With which he passed out from her and shut the door.