nd seemed to pass away
in ever-receding vibrations upon the desert, till it was lost in the
comforting sunset.

As the last note died away, a voice from beneath the palm-tree near
the door, deeper than any that had come from within, said reverently:
"Ameen-Ameen!"

He who spoke was a man well over sixty years, with a grey beard, lofty
benign forehead, and the eyes of a scholar and a dreamer. As he uttered
the words of spiritual assent, alike to the Muslim and the Christian
religion, he rose to his feet, showing the figure of a man of action,
alert, well-knit, authoritative. Presently he turned towards the East
and stretched a robe upon the ground, and with stately beauty of gesture
he spread out his hands, standing for a moment in the attitude of
aspiration. Then, kneeling, he touched his turbaned head to the ground
three times, and as the sun drew down behind the sharp, bright line of
sand that marked the horizon, he prayed devoutly and long. It was Ebn
Ezra Bey.

Muslim though he was, he had visited this monastery many times, to study
the ancient Christian books which lay in disordered heaps in an ill-kept
chamber, books which predated the Hegira, and were as near to the life
of the Early Church as the Scriptures themselves--or were so reputed.
Student and pious Muslim as he was, renowned at El Azhar and at every
Muslim university in the Eastern world, he swore by the name of Christ
as by that of Abraham, Isaac, and all the prophets, though to him
Mahomet was the last expression of Heaven's will to mankind. At first
received at the monastery with unconcealed aversion, and not without
danger to himself, he had at last won to him the fanatical monks, who,
in spirit, kept this ancient foundation as rigid to their faith as
though it were in mediaeval times. And though their discipline was
lax, and their daily duties orderless, this was Oriental rather than
degenerate. Here Ebn Ezra had stayed for weeks at a time in the past,
not without some religious scandal, long since forgotten.

His prayers ended, he rose up slowly, once more spread out his hands in
ascription, and was about to enter the monastery, when, glancing towards
the west, he saw a horseman approaching. An instinct told him who it
was before he could clearly distinguish the figure, and his face lighted
with a gentle and expectant smile. Then his look changed.

"He is in trouble," he murmured. "As it was with his uncle in Damascus,
so will it be with him.