“It is the gift of my master.” The tall black grinned as with a sweep of his long gnarled arm he flung off his assailant. At that the fury of Nesìb passed all bounds. He drew the dagger from his waistband and sprang again, this time foaming at the mouth. Again the strength of the negro felled him easily. But, seeing the old man’s wrist bled from a scratch of the knife, Hassan Agha intervened. He dealt the Thief a cuff under the ear which sent him staggering up against a wall near by; and did the like for Ali, the bosom friend of the Thief, who had the rashness to cry shame on the blow. By that time many people gathered toward them; and, spying soldiers, Shibli took to his heels. “Cut his life! Burn his house! O Allah! O Lord!” raved Nesìb. “Is it not enough to lose my horse? The black pig wears my honor—O defilement! that princely garment. May his father perish! An heirloom in my family! Woe on us! I gave it to the Frank hakìm, and the black pig wears it. Oo—oo!” The watch came and demanded to know the meaning of the disturbance. Hassan simply shrugged his shoulders and directed their gaze upon the maniac scrabbling at the wall. He said: “It is a poor friend of mine who has had so many and great misfortunes in a short time that, see, his mind is broken.” “The poor one. May Allah relieve him!” said the soldiers piously, and went their way. On their departure, Hassan gripped the Thief by the shoulders, and shook him till his tongue lolled out. “Allah grant thy parents a shameful death! Be silent! What is this garment to lament—some mohair—a little braid?” “It is an ancient garment—a most reverend garment—all my inheritance!” gasped the sufferer. At that, past patience, Hassan seized his ears as they had been two handles, and, heedless of the shrieks of Ali, beat his head against the wall, saying: “Speak no more of it! It was given from thee, not so? So the hakìm cure the daughter of Shems-ud-dìn, what matter who wears it? It has served its turn.” And Nesìb, dreading further punishment, fell silent, weeping upon Ali’s breast. Their second brawl was of a more public nature. It chanced, on an afternoon when the Nazarenes had a great ceremony in their church called the Resurrection, that Hassan and his men, attended as usual by Shibli, passed by the mouth of the bazaar leading down to the church, at an hour when the throng of worshipers poured forth. They were shouldering their way through that herd of infidels, when some men made resistance, pushing hard against them. Peering about him angrily, Hassan saw shawled heads and swarthy faces with eyes of smoldering fire. “O happy day! May Allah destroy every Bedawi!” He spat in the face of the nearest.