“A happy day, O my uncles! Saw you aught of the great battle that was here awhile ago? Why ask! Thy friend is injured. Ah, Allah knows the wickedness of some people. A drink, now, flavored of rose, or tamar-hind, or lemon, would refresh his honor.” He ran to his stall and returned with a cup and bottle. “Nay, take it as a gift; ennoble me. The breeze has sprung up, but one feels it not just here. I present the breeze and the shade of trees and the bubbling waters. Do but sip, I entreat thee; it is paradise.” CHAPTER XXII From visiting his daughter’s grave, Shems-ud-dìn sauntered round by the walls of the city till he came to that rocky steep, at the top of which he had preached to the negroes. He took a path that ran down slantwise into the wady, and the embattled walls were soon lost to sight. Mâs and Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, followed him implicitly, though at a discreet distance, and when at length he crossed his legs in the shade of a little bluff, they took example from him and did likewise. The sheykh’s face was coldly serene as he gazed on the sunburnt rocks, among which rose ancient tombs strange of shape. He had sat there in peace about an hour when a shout disturbed him. It fell from the rocks above, and ruffled his countenance as a stone the surface of a pool. Other shouts ensued. He recognized the voice of Hassan, the laugh of Shibli. Men came scrambling down the rocks. With scarce an effort he admitted the call for patience, and his brow smoothed again. “Allah comfort thee, O sheykh,” cried the foremost of the Circassians. “May the wound to thy soul be healed. May that treacherous Frank perish, his house be burnt, his parents dishonored. Already we have done something to avenge thee. In sh’ Allah, we have made him quake a little.” “I hear words of no meaning,” said Shems-ud-dìn, who had risen. “What intend you by such talk?” Dismayed by the stern front opposed by their saint to news they had deemed most welcome, the men herded, silent and abashed, pending the arrival of their chief who, being elderly and stiff at the joints, used caution in the descent from rock to rock. At length Hassan, breathless, slid down among them. “O beloved, how great the grief. How I sorrow with thee,” he exclaimed in accents of condolence. “By Allah, it seems ten years since last I saw thee.” “It is in truth some days, and thou art welcome, O my dear. But say, what is this of which thy companions prate—some outrage done to the hakìm, my benefactor?” Shems-ud-dìn stood erect, severely questioning. His eyes met Hassan’s steadily. The Guardian of the Frontier hung his head as at the Last Day. But soon recovering, he told the story of the riot, representing it as a game, a little pleasantry at the expense of one who had deserved much worse at their hands; for had he not obtained their presents by a false pretense?