“Ha, is it thou, Abd-ur-Rahman, O child of my soul? By Allah, in the dimness I mistook thy form for that of our glorious Zeyd ebn Abbâs. A mercy thou didst speak. How is thy health, O beloved? In sh’ Allah, it is the best possible. Thou art come, doubtless, to rejoice with thy father. There is no longer any fear for Alia. She is safe in the care of an English physician.” “I must depart,” said the Bey soon after, when more footsteps echoed without. “Be not wroth with me, O my father, if during the course of thy sojourn here I shall appear sometimes neglectful. Thou knowest not how fettered is the life of one in authority.” Shems-ud-dìn accompanied his son as far as the outer portal of the khan, a low arch open on a narrow shadowed way. Overhead, above the square-cut roofs, the sky was flushed with sunset. At parting, Shems-ud-dìn took the lad’s face between his two hands and, looking straight into his eyes, said quietly: “Of a truth, in speech and manner thou art grown the very marrow of my brother Milhem. He could never perceive the ground of my doings. My heart is sad at present—very sad; so I entreat thee not to vex my understanding with every idle rumor which may wound thy vanity. I am answerable to none save Allah for my madness. Now go thy way, and may Allah keep thee always.” With that he kissed his son between the eyebrows and let him go. CHAPTER X The sun rode high above the Holy City, but a freshness of the dawn still lurked in the shade of her rough walls, in the gloom of her covered ways, which swarmed with people in all kinds of raiment representative of every nation under heaven. To anyone threading that crowded labyrinth of whitish stone, ancient and coherent, glimpses of the pure blue sky became welcome as a flower on rocks. For Shems-ud-dìn, accustomed through so many years to wide horizons and an open road, the overshadowing walls made a prison. The hubbub of the bazaars dazed him, and he felt hurt by the careless shouldering of other wayfarers. He had been to visit Alia, and was making his way, under guidance of the faithful Zeyd, to the Sacred Area, when he met Shibli walking with Hassan Agha and his attendant Circassians amid the throng in a long, dim market. “How is the health of our dove this morning?” cried Hassan, speaking for them all. “In sh’ Allah, the poor one is much better?” “If not better, her frame has rest—for which Allah be praised!” returned Shems-ud-dìn. “The people of the house are very kind, as I learn from the mouth of Mâs. The Lord reward them!... O Shibli, son of my hope, unless thou hast some grave business, come with me to the Dome of the Rock, whither I go to pray. It is long since I spoke with thee in private. Come and let thy voice comfort me, O my dear.” Shibli obeyed, as in duty bound; but his face often turned to gaze wistfully after the Circassians, and the lines of his mouth expressed grievance.