“Hear the supreme khatìb. O my soul, the heavenly preacher,” panted one and another. All at once there burst a sobbing cry from out the rocks above, the cry of one at the pang of sensual enjoyment. “Ah, ah! his lips are gold. Gems shower from them. O my eyes! O Allah One and Unaccompanied!” The preacher paused and glanced upward. A disreputable tarbûsh, garnished with a dirty rag by way of turban, peeped above a neighboring crag. “O Zeyd,” cried the sheykh severely, “art thou not sped then? Since it irks thee to do my bidding, Mâs goes instead of thee.” “Nay, I go, O my lord.” The face and shoulders, half the form of Zeyd, popped up very suddenly. “But oh, what words! What treasure! O blessed day!” He was seen to scale the rocks with alacrity. His master smiled; and even in the moment of displeasure there had been that about his mouth and in his eyes which showed that the mind despised its own vexation. Shems-ud-dìn continued to speak of sin, and the need of good works, and of the judgment, when a book shall be given to each of the sons of men wherein he shall read his own account for good or evil. The sun of noon burned overhead, yet none stirred to escape its rays. Above the wady, a gash in the rugged landscape, a hawk hovered, seeming motionless. Faint sounds came wafted from a village on the yonder steep, of one color with the rocks to which it clung. At length a growth of noise above them excited curiosity. Some of the circle rose and scanned the height. “Ma sh’ Allah!” cried Hassan. “A bird must have carried the fame of thy discourse into the city, O beloved, for much people watch us from the rocks.” “Allah! What was it flashed there, behind that stone?” “By the Korân, there are men all about us, moving secretly.” Hassan Agha tugged at his white mustache. “Let us be walking,” he commanded. “Show no concern, my children, nor fight, for the foe is numerous. With thy leave, O beloved, we will return to the city together.” Shems-ud-dìn, undismayed, took the hand held out to him, and walked with his old friend slowly along the path which wound upward among the rocks. “Stand, all of you.” From beside an ancient tomb two soldiers stood forth suddenly, barring the way. At that Hassan railed: “What ails you, O my dears? Has the sun addled your wits that you venture to command this holy man, a great one, no less than brother to the renowned Milhem Pasha, whom Allah preserve.” Soldiers were now all about them, joking good-naturedly. There had been no resistance, and they were grateful, for it was very hot. “Allah witness how I grieve for you,” laughed one in whom Hassan recognized the Bimbashi Muhammed. “But to sift the innocent from the guilty is not our business. That belongs to the judge; let him see to it. By Allah, thou art out of luck, old fox. This is no jesting matter like ours of the other night.”