“See, I hold this knife—I, Ali, thy sworn brother. The knife is thine, I am thy right arm. I abide here with thee; I watch the alley. Whichever comes, the black or his master, I slay with this knife, the knife of Nesìb; with this arm, the arm of Nesìb; in the name of Nesìb, under Allah. So shall thy wrongs be avenged. Art content, O my eyes?” Nesìb nodded, speechless. He grew calmer after that. For minutes together he watched the sunny lane with scarce a sob; but then the grief which gnawed his vitals would again assert itself, and Ali would break forth again in imprecations, and renew his oath of vengeance. “See, I pull off my boots,” he said. “There shall be no warning, no betraying footstep. The dog shall fall suddenly as by the hand of Allah.” He dragged off the homemade boots of goatskin, which he wore for riding, and set them before Nesìb to perfect assurance. “Hush! One approaches. I hear the voice of slippers.” Peeping cautiously out, Ali drew back quickly. “It is the black. He hastens. He has heard of the tumult. Let us hide behind the stall a moment. Quick, I help thee. Y’Allah! He is acquainted with the sherbet seller.” “I would fain see him,” whispered Nesìb, stifling a sob. The footsteps paused before the entry, the negro looking for his old acquaintance, but they quickly went on. Ali stole forth, crouching, swift and noiseless as a leopard to the spring. The Thief heard a gurgled cry, then three long groans, ere Ali crept back out of the sunshine, and placed in his hands the dagger, warm and wet. Still sobbing a little, reminiscently, Nesìb took the dagger and surveyed it lovingly, stroking and fondling it in his lap. “It is finished. Art content, O beloved?” “May thy goods increase, O Ali, O my dear brother!” murmured the Thief, still gloating on the bloody knife. Then, on a sudden prompting, he stretched out his arms and caught Ali to his breast in a passionate embrace. It was Ali’s turn to weep convulsively. They clung together, sobbing for joy in their mutual devotion. “Now let us go, O delight,” murmured Ali, at length. “One beheld the deed. He was afar off and he fled. It may be he will tell others.” “I am ready,” replied the Thief, wiping the dagger within the breast of his raiment. Just then a woman’s shriek rent the air, giving them pause. Ali whispered: “They have found the dead pig. Wait a little, O my soul. Let us once more hide behind the stall.” The sound of lamentation continued but a little while. They heard a man’s voice give directions, followed by the slam of a door. Then all was still. A minute longer they crouched in hiding. Then Ali helped his injured love to rise. Nesìb’s arm round Ali’s neck, Ali’s arm about Nesìb supporting him, they emerged into the sunlight. They had not accomplished many steps from their retreat, when the sherbet seller, returning to his stall, accosted them.