“What is your master’s name?” “Agha Mirza Ghulam Husain Shirazi,” the poor fellow answered, astonishment and dismay showing in every line of his great form. “And yours?” “Hama.” “Whence?” “Of the Mukri, of Sauj Bulaq,” and here he bridled a little, as should a man of a great and powerful tribe. “And where did you find him?” I was asked. “In Halabja,” I replied. I was wearing a new aba, or camel-hair cloak, and this next attracted his attention: “Was that given you as a mark of esteem by Lady Adela?” he queried, with a sneer. “No,” replied Hama for me, his ire rising; “my master seeks favour of none, and pays for what he obtains with his own, good Persian money.” “Once more I say, take those away, I want no sugar; take them out, and you”--to his own servant--“go away, what affairs are these of yours?” [Sidenote: THE SHAIKH UL ISLAM] Still Hama refused to take up the sugar, till I turned and told him to take and give them to the poor, the usual means of signifying that one has no use whatever for a rejected gift. So the room was clear of servants, and the Shaikh ul Islam turned to me and recommenced his unpleasant remarks: “So you are that Englishman of Constantinople; how does a European find his way from there to here in this guise, unattended, speaking Kurdish, and using Persian as his own language? When I was in Constantinople you were my guest and I could say nothing, though I knew what you were; but here I can speak freely, for we are both strangers. And that explains why I cannot accept your presents; I wish to do you no discourtesy, but I am living here in a retreat of darvishes, where our diet is but buttermilk and bread; nor do we indulge in any luxuries, therefore I as a guest in another’s house cannot accept presents from any. “Yet, because I bear you no ill-will, though you have doubly deceived me--coming there in false guise, and here too, perhaps--I beseech you to be frank and tell me who you are--what, after your close enquiries at Constantinople, your business is here upon the frontier.” “It is evident,” I replied, “from what you say that you had suspected in Constantinople that I was a Persian, and your surmises were correct, and as a proof I will hand you letters from my native place, Shiraz, covering a long period.” These he perused and handed them back. “Yes,” he said, “that is all very specious, but how am I to know these are not forgeries. And at any rate, what brought you here to see me?” “When I was in Constantinople,” I said, “you were kind to me and lightened the monotony of many a dark day there, it is only natural that I should come to see you when I hear that you are here now.”