“The monk who passed thee but now goes every year to the Place of Lepers with the caravan, for a brother of this order stays yonder with the afflicted, seeing no more the faces of this world which he has left behind. Afar off from each other they stand--as far as eye can see--and after the manner of their faith they pray to Allah, and he who has just left us finds a paper fastened with a stone upon the sand at a certain place where he waits. He touches it not, but reads it as it lies, and, having read, heaps sand upon it. And the message which the paper gives is for me.” “For thee? Hast thou there one who--” “There was one, my father’s son, though we were of different mothers; and in other days, so many years ago, he did great wrong to me, and not to me alone,”--the grey head bowed in sorrow--“but to one dearer to me than life. I hated him, and would have slain him, but the mind of Allah is not the mind of man; and he escaped me. Then he was stricken with leprosy, and was carried to the place from whence no leper returns. At first my heart rejoiced; then, at last, I forgave him, Saadat--was he not my father’s son, and was the woman not gone to the bosom of Allah, where is peace? So I forgave and sorrowed for him--who shall say what miseries are those which, minute to minute, day after day, and year upon year, repeat themselves, till it is an endless flaying of the body and burning of the soul! Every year I send a message to him, and every year now this Christian monk--there is no Sheikh-el-Islam yonder--brings back the written message which he finds in the sand.” “And thee has had a message to-night?” “The last that may come--God be praised, he goeth to his long home. It was written in his last hour. There was no hope; he is gone. And so, one more reason showeth why I should go where thou goest, Saadat.” Casting his eyes toward the figure by the acacia-tree, his face clouded and he pondered anxiously, looking at David the while. Twice he essayed to speak, but paused. David’s eyes followed his look. “What is it? Who is he--yonder?” The other rose to his feet. “Come and see, Saadat,” he replied. “Seeing, thou wilt know what to do.” “Zaida--is it of Zaida?” David asked. “The man will answer for himself, Saadat.” Coming within a few feet of the figure crouched upon the rock, Ebn Ezra paused and stretched out a hand. “A moment, Saadat. Dost thou not see, dost thou not recognise him?”