looking forth in the direction of the sound, he saw in a dell beneath,
where ran a footpath, a man and a woman standing still amid the
shadows, gazing up at him.

"Ya Iskender! Make haste, descend, come down to us!" The call came
again more peremptorily.

The voice was his mother's. Muttering, "May her house be destroyed!"
he emptied the pannikin of paint-foul water which he had carried with
him all day long, picked up his drawing-book, and obeyed. As he
prepared to descend, the last red gleam forsook the sand-crests,
leaving them ashy white.

"Make haste, O shameless loiterer. We bring thee news--fine news!
Praise Allah who assigned to thee Abdullah for an uncle--one so kind,
so considerate, so thoughtful for thy welfare.~.~.~. But first I must
tell thee how the three ladies came in thy absence to inform me of
their intention to educate the son of Costantin to be a clergyman;
whilst thou, whose mother has washed for them these twenty years, art
required to sweep their house."

"What matter!" rejoined Iskender, with a listless shrug. "My ambition
is to visit the country of the Franks and gain the honour of a mighty
painter."

His mother stretched out her hands to heaven, screaming:

"Hear him, Allah! Is he not bewitched? Desire of the lady Hilda has
made him mad. O Holy Maryam, O Mar Jiryis and all saints, condemn
those who have led him thus to ruin. Hear him now; he would make
pictures! Well, to Allah the praise; but it is their doing!~.~.~.
Now, for the love of Allah, put such toys aside and hear Abdullah's
generous plan for thy advancement. Know that a young Englishman has
lately come to the Hotel Barudi----"

"I know that well," Iskender grunted irritably. "He is my friend.
This day he spent two hours with me."

"Thy friend!~.~.~. O merciful Allah!" cried his mother.

"Thou knowest him?" exclaimed Abdullah, much affronted.

"Come, cease thy dreaming, tell the story, mad-man!" His mother shook
his arm and screamed at him. "Art possessed with thy dumb devil.
Speak! What sayest thou?"

"May thy father perish!" cried Iskender, startled.

"Curse thy religion!" retorted his mother hotly. "Is thy uncle dirt to
be thus disregarded? Ask his pardon, O my dear!"

Abdullah the dragoman laughed at that, and suggested they had best be
moving, for the night was near. A trace of grievance lingered in his
voice and manner, for he loved ceremonies, and had looked forward to a
formal presentation