Shems-ud-dìn gazed on Shibli’s brightened countenance, and his eyes were earnest though he seemed to smile. Distressed by that searching look, the youth hung his head and faltered: “Allah witness, I go with thee gladly—very gladly. It was for afterwards——” “I did but tempt thee, O my son. I require thee not. But how long wilt thou strive to deceive me?” He touched Shibli’s hand affectionately and would have left him; but the youth ran after, imploring forgiveness. Gently he shook him off, saying: “Go in peace, my soul. Allah forbid that I should load thee with a grief not thine. Think not I blame thee. Go and hear the story.” CHAPTER XVIII When Shems-ud-dìn knocked that morning at the door of the Frank’s house, it was opened to him immediately. Zeyd had not time to exchange the usual compliments with a sherbet seller, who had his stall higher up the alley, in the shade of a little entry which alone broke the monotony of its high blind walls. Ismaìl, the black doorkeeper, had been on the watch for their coming. “Is it thou, O my lord?” he exclaimed, grinning welcome. “The hakìm would speak with thy Grace. He is now at meat, but will soon have done. Deign to enter here.” Instead of conducting Shems-ud-dìn as usual through the cool scoured passage out into the court and so up to the sick room, the black opened the door of a chamber adjoining the entrance—a closet sparsely furnished in the Frankish manner, where the unbeliever used to receive those who came to make trial of his skill in medicine. Zeyd thought to pass in with his master, but Ismaìl restrained him by a strong friendly clasp of his shoulder. The door was closed, and Shems-ud-dìn left alone to his meditations. Set uneasily upon a chair, his feet tucked under him as far as the awkwardness of the contrivance would allow, he took stock of the little room, its cleanness, the tall, spindle-shanked furniture, the mats of some vegetable fiber, and the buzz of flies beneath its vaulted ceiling. Upon a table in one corner stood two wooden boxes linked together by a slack cord. Those boxes gave a focus to his contemplation. In the inner chamber of so great a scientist, he supposed them to possess some occult virtue. Yet, all the while he sat gazing on them and on the room in general, he cared not a jot for anything there, but prayed only for the hakìm to come quickly and make known his latest judgment upon Alia. At last the Frank looked in, coming straight from meat, as a reminiscent munching testified. “O sheykh!” he poured forth in that rapid, garbled speech of his, which galloped as if to escape from its own inaccuracy. “May thy day be happy and blessed. For thy daughter, alas! the end is very near. Stay with her to-day, I beg of thee. My house is thy house. I go now about my business. In thy grace!”