an the young khawajah who resides here all alone," Iskender
explained, replying to the negro, though his eyes kept looking from
Daud to Selim, whose perfect impassivity surprised him. He grieved for
the loss of his umbrella, which would have compelled more respect.

"Ah," grinned the negro, seeing light. "He is at breakfast."

"Then with permission, I will wait till he comes forth."

"What is this youth?" cried Daud irritably, without looking.

"Bid him depart!" said Selim, moving impatiently in his seat as though
a fly annoyed him.

Of a sudden both the brothers rose and bowed profoundly, laying hand to
breast, and lips, and brow, as a Muslim notable passed up the street on
horseback. Then they sank down again, and the obsequious smile died
away on their faces, leaving them cold and haughty as before.

"The great khawajah is my very good friend. He loves me dearly,"
proffered Iskender in his own excuse. "By Allah, he is the nicest of
men! He will be overjoyed to find me here this morning."

The scornful eyes of Daud glanced on him for a brief moment, while
Selim, in his turn, questioned:

"Who is this?"

"Is it not the son of one Yacub, a muleteer, who sold his soul years
ago to the English missionaries. It seems such renegades are well
paid, for behold the raiment of this youth. What wouldst thou here, O
dog, son of a dog?"

"I ask but to see my friend the Emir, who loves me dearly--by Allah, I
speak but the truth!" pleaded Iskender, near to tears.

"Now by the sword of St. George," vociferated Daud, roused at last,
"none of thy species enters my father's door. Ours is an honourable
house, respected far and near. If any of our clients needs a guide or
servant, we know where to send for one who may be trusted. We tolerate
no lickspittle-rogues, no beggars. Remember the abominations of thy
father and the extraordinary unchastity of thy mother, and take thy
shameful face elsewhere away from us."

"O my kind lords!" Iskender began to protest; but just then Selim, who
had been silently working himself into a fury while his brother spoke,
sprang up, and snatching the broom from the black servant's hand,
discharged it at Iskender's head with all his strength. The son of
Yacub, by a lucky move, escaped the missile; but seeing the negro
stepping forth to recover his broom, stayed to make no retort.

Having retired to the opposite side of the street, which was in shadow,
he sat down on the doorstep o