h with its well and court-yard, nestling cozily
among the feathery-fronded date-trees.

From the Eastern Road, a caravan from the Nejd was descending slowly
into the town, and so clear was the atmosphere that Amzi could
distinguish the huge, white dromedaries, and catch an occasional glint
of a green shugduf, or the gorgeous litter of a grandee, trapped in
scarlet and gold.

It was indeed a fair scene, and Amzi enjoyed it to the full with the
keen enjoyment of one who possesses an esthetic temperament, an intense
love of the beautiful. Yet he began to feel lonely in this town of his
adoption. It was long since he had seen Yusuf, and he commenced to think
seriously of returning for a time to Mecca.

Besides, he was tired of waiting for Mohammed's long-deferred visit, and
he was anxious again to see the man whose strange fascination over him
he scarcely dared to acknowledge even to himself. The emptiness and
idleness of his own life was beginning to pall upon him, and he compared
unfavorably his sluggish existence with the busy, quietly energetic way
in which Yusuf was spending his days.

One source of unfailing pleasure to him had been the companionship of
Dumah, who had followed him to Medina, but was wandering about as usual,
returning to Amzi when tired or hungry, as a birdling returns to its
mother's wing.

And Amzi had almost a mother's love for the boy, for poor Dumah seemed a
child still; he had grown but little, his face was paler than of old,
his eyes were as large and blue, and his bright hair fell in the same
soft curls above his regular and clear-cut features. Like Yusuf, Amzi
felt that the orphan's very helplessness was an appeal to his heart, and
he did not lock its doors.

Dumah now came in wearily. He lay down at Amzi's feet and put his head
on his knee. The Meccan stroked his soft hair gently.

"Where has my Dumah been?" he asked tenderly.

"Watching the people going out foolishly. Dumah would not go with them."

"Going where, lad?"

"Out to the gardens where the lotus blows, and the date-palms wave, and
the citron and orange grow."

"And why go they, then, foolishly?" smiled Amzi.

"Because they go to meet him, and they are carrying white robes, and
they will bring him in as a prince,--the wicked one, who would place
himself above our blessed Master!"

Amzi started up quickly, and threw his pipe down.

"Is Mohammed here?" he cried.

"He is here. But you will not go too, Amzi? Alas tha