y,
apprehending a fresh storm: "Now, as concerns Iskender, I have a
project for thee. It was for that I came here, not to blame the lad.
Know that a young Englishman arrived yesterday at the Hotel Barudi, in
search of amusement, it would seem, for when Selim Barudi inquired how
long he wished to stay, he replied it might be all his life if the
place pleased him. From that and the plenteousness of his luggage I
conclude him to be the son of a good house--no less than an Emir, by
Allah--though why he comes here out of season Allah knows! Elias and
the rest have not got wind of him. He as yet knows no one in the land
except the two Barudis and myself, who met him at their house an hour
ago. My plan is to present our dear one to him----"

At this point Iskender's mother interrupted him with sudden outcry as
of one possessed:

"Aha, O cruel priest! O soured virgins! Let the son of Costantin be
your dog if he will. My son shall tread on all your faces, the friend
of an Emir."

She shook her fist towards the Mission, seen in fierce sunlight through
the shadowed doorway.

"Hush, woman!" cried Abdullah in an agony. Her foolish words set wasps
about his head. "For the love of Allah, let Iskender anger no man, but
be supple, politic, and so respected. Now that he is cast off by your
Brutestants, there is nothing for it but he must become a dragoman.
The Englishman of whom I spoke is but a step. He has need of all men's
favour, and must court it diligently. . . . Where is the boy himself?
I thought to find him."

"Ask me not where he is!" The woman raised her hands despairingly.
"He went out early this morning with his paint-things, and has not
returned. May his house be destroyed! He is the worst of sons. He
shuns all counsel, and does nothing that one asks of him. How often
have I begged him to renounce his painting, or to go with me to the
Mission and make show of penitence. As well instruct the sand. It is
likely he will scout this plan of thine. Oh, what have I ever done to
be thus afflicted? Why, why has he not the wit of Asad son of
Costantin?"

"Let us go out and meet him," proposed old Abdullah, still bent on
diverting her mind from its maddening grievance. "He cannot be far
off, and to smell the air is pleasant at this hour."

The mother of Iskender flung her cares aside. To walk out by the side
of so respectable a man, at an hour when many people took the air upon
the sandhills, was to g