promised to be lengthy, were invited by the Arab to seat
themselves with him on his little platform.

Orion and Nilus had accepted such an invitation, and it happened that,
while they sat in treaty with Salech, visible to the passers-by, the
Vekeel Obada, who had so deeply stirred the wrath of the governor's son
on the previous evening, came by, close to him. To Orion's amazement he
greeted him with great amiability, and he, remembering Amru's warning,
responded, though not without an effort, to his hated foe's civility.
When Obada passed the stall a second and a third time, Orion felt that
he was watching him; however, it was quite possible that the Vekeel
might also have business with the money-changer and be waiting only for
the conclusion of his.

At any rate Orion ere long forgot the incident, for matters of more
pressing importance claimed his attention at home.

As often happens, the death of one man had changed everything in his
house so utterly as to make it unlike the same; though his removal had
made it neither richer nor poorer, and though his secluded presence of
late had scarcely had an appreciable influence. The rooms formerly
so full of life now seemed dead. Petitioners and suppliants no longer
crowded the anteroom, and all visits of condolence had, according to
the ancient custom, been received on the day after the funeral. The Lady
Neforis had ceased fussing and bustling, the clatter of her keys and
her scolding were no longer to be heard; she sat apart, either in her
sleeping-room or the cool hall with the fountain which had been her
husband's favorite room, excepting when she was at church whither she
went twice every day. She returned from thence with the same weary,
abstracted expression that she took there, and any one seeing her lying
on the divan which her husband had formerly occupied, idly absorbed in
gloomy thought, would hardly have recognized her as the same woman who
had but lately been so active and managing. She did not exactly mourn or
bewail her loss; indeed, she had no tears for her grief, as though she
had shed them all, once for all, during the night after his death and
burial. But she could not attain to that state of sadness made sacred
by memories with which consoling angels so often mingle some drops of
sweetness, after the first anguish is overpast. She felt--she knew--that
with her husband a portion of her own being had been riven from her, but
she could not yet perceive tha