It was the third hour after noon when Shems-ud-dìn, by the help of Zeyd ebn Abbâs, made his way to the khan, whither Shibli and the Circassians had gone before. Mâs had begged permission to remain in the house of the Frank, having discovered in the aged doorkeeper a kindred spirit and compatriot. And Shems-ud-dìn was glad to leave him within call of Alia. At the khan they found two of the Circassians kicking their heels in the dark entry with the mien of unwilling idlers. At sight of Shems-ud-dìn their faces brightened. They asked leave to rejoin their chief, who, with the rest of his men and young Shibli, was gone forth to view the city. They had been left behind only to make report to the sheykh that all was well, and the beasts safely stabled. “Is my donkey also safe?” asked Zeyd, with more of curiosity than concern. They answered with a grin: “Be sure of it! The desire of all eyes grinds chaff in the stable here beside thee.” There was no one else in the guest chamber when Shems-ud-dìn and Zeyd entered. The former took seat upon the diwàn which ran all round the room, and the latter soon followed his example, with care, however, to leave a space between them for reverence. The place got light through the door only. The silence was unbroken save for the buzz of many flies, spasmodical movements on the part of some one in another room, and an occasional far-off neigh from the stable. The faintness and seeming distance of sounds without testified to the thickness of the grimed old walls. Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, sat gazing at the stonework opposite, now and then risking an awe-stricken glance at his companion’s face, which was downcast and very sorrowful. When the lord of the khan came bustling to wish their honors a happy day, Zeyd laid finger to lip, and checked the tide of civilities. The host shuffled off again, disappointed and mystified. The hue of Shems-ud-dìn’s thoughts was indeed very somber. He sat in sackcloth, shamefast before Allah. Where was his faith, his resignation? It had been lost in his eagerness to win the heart of the unbeliever to pity Alia. And his present hope, however faint, was it not an insult to Divine Omnipotence? His soul cried: “O Lord, I am weak indeed—weaker than I was aware. Strengthen me in the faith. Make me as ready to give up as to receive. Hear my cry out of this shadow, and write not my infirmity against me.” And Zeyd, sitting near him by the wall, and gazing furtively upon his face from time to time, thought: “Was there ever such a saint? Surely he is holiest of all men living! Surely angels talk with him, and the Most High leads him by the hand. O happy me, to sit unrebuked by the side of such an one, the companion of his musing!”