ay picking him out
from the surrounding gloom, he seemed to bear with him a mystic
radiance. The young man knelt instinctively and pressed his forehead
to the ground; while the voice of the priest, now grown tender and
melodious, seemed to warble far above him like a voice from heaven. An
angel stood in the place of his late tormentor.

"It is not thy fault that thou art a Brutestant," said Mitri kindly,
when the blessing was concluded. "Come to me sometimes; let us talk
things over. I discern in thee some mind to know the truth."

"Is he indeed a Brutestant, my father?" The girl in the sky-blue shirt
had stolen close to them. "Ah, woe is me that one so goodly should go
the way of everlasting punishment!"

She wore no garment but the long straight kirtle. Her hair, brought
low round either temple to be plaited in a tail behind, increased the
shadow of her eyes--great thoughtful eyes, which made the childish face
divine. Iskender, smitten dumb with admiration, at that moment thought
of Protestantism as a foul crone.

"May thy house be destroyed, O Nesibeh, shameless girl!" the priest
rebuked her. "What have this youth's looks to do with thee? Thou art
grown too big to be allowed such freedom. It is time thou didst assume
the veil, and with it modesty." He took his daughter's hand and
fondled it, none the less, adding: "Whence this religious fervour, soul
of mischief?"

It was with a sigh that Iskender parted from them and he went slowly,
often turning to look back at the little church beneath the oak-tree,
till his road debouched into a crowded highway, where the long intent
procession of the fellahin conveying the produce of their fields to
market on the backs of camels, mules and asses, on the heads of women,
reminded him of his own errand. He then made haste to the hotel of
Musa el Barudi.

The two sons of Musa, Daud and Selim, clad in robes of striped silk,
and high red fezzes, sat out on stools, one on either side of the
doorway, to feel the morning sun and chat with wayfarers. Behind them,
against the doorpost, leaned a tall negro in white robe and turban, who
held a broom in his hand, but seemed to have done with sweeping.
Iskender approached this group with low obeisance.

"Is his Highness the Emir within?"

The black alone condescended to heed the inquiry. He replied with the
broadest of grins:

"May Allah heal thy intelligence. Art possessed with a devil, or a
joker merely?"

"I me