dying it, and was always trying to produce its
likeness; now with pencil upon paper, now with finger in the sand. No
artist in the world could hope to show the beauty of that face as he
beheld it, the glow its smile diffused through all his being. Even his
mother's shrieks to him to get money from the Emir enhanced his
rapture, making his own pure love shine forth more brightly.

A week's fine weather followed on the rain. The Emir rode out on
horseback every day, with Iskender at his right hand, and Elias, who
was a showy rider, circling round them. Iskender had told Elias
plainly:

"The Emir is mine. I found him; and shall keep him all my own."

"It is known he is thine," the elder had made answer with all
deference. "Allah forbid that I should seem to rival thee! But his
Honour has been merciful to me, and my soul is bound to him and thee in
gratitude. Moreover, nowadays I have much spare time, which I can
scarcely hope to spend more profitably than in the society and
conversation of so exalted and refined a nobleman. He is thine and
shall remain so. Only drive me not away!"

Iskender acceded to this petition the more readily that his Emir, he
could see, regarded the most exquisite of dragomans simply as a
standing joke. They laughed together at his superstition and his
boastfulness. But their butt was really serviceable in small ways,
knowing where to hire good horses at the lowest price, and pointing out
in the course of their rides objects of interest of the very existence
of which Iskender had been ignorant.

Never had the son of Yacub known such happiness as he tasted in those
rides across the plain which basked in sunshine, with violet mountains
before them and a gleam of the sea behind. Here they traversed a
mud-village plumed with palms, its narrow ways alive with dogs, and
fowls, and children, where Iskender shouted, "Way for the Emir!" till
men and women bowed their heads and praised him; there an olive-grove
profuse of dappled shade, where they were content to let their horses
walk at ease. In their saddle-bags was much good food from the hotel,
which they devoured at noon in some secluded spot; when Elias would
discourse to them of strange vicissitudes, of beggars suddenly uplifted
to the height of honour, and the Emir, reclining lazily, would smile
and wink privately at Iskender, who, at every such mark of preferment,
longed to kiss his feet. No marvel yet related by Elias could compa