e descried a long way off. To-day she had
run to meet them with delighted cries; but old Carulin had met the
welcome in the dullest manner, stalking on into the house, where,
instated in the only chair, with hands crossed on the handle of her
parasol, she proceeded to give judgment on Iskender, while Jane and
Hilda, standing one on either side, contributed their sad Amen to all
she said.

"We are more grieved than we can express, Sarah," the old devil
concluded in her creaking voice; "more especially on your account, who
are a Christian woman. It is solely out of regard for you that we are
prepared to take him as a servant, provided he repents and mends his
ways. We cannot have him associating with men like that Elias."

She spoke as the mouthpiece of the missionary, the dispenser of wealth
and preferment. Sarah was obliged to thank the Lord for her kindness,
instead of tearing her eyes out, or treading her dog-face level with
the ground. Yet Iskender was robbed of his birthright. It had always
been known that one boy of the little congregation would be made a
clergyman; and Iskender was clearly designated, his parents having been
the first converts, and himself the spoilt child of the Mission till
six months ago. Furthermore, he was fatherless, a widow's only son.
Yet Asad son of Costantin was put before him. Asad had a father--aye,
and a clever one--a father who dwelt at the Mission-house, and was
always at the ladies' ears with cunning falsehoods. If only Iskender's
father--the righteous Yacub--had been still alive! . . .

Thus brooding on her wrongs, with lips still murmurous, the mother of
Iskender brushed a hand across her eyes, and looked about her. There
was the chair still standing in the middle of the room where Carulin
had sat.

Snatching up the defiled thing, she swung it to its usual place beside
the wall, banging it down with spiteful energy enough to break it.
Having stooped to make sure that it was not actually broken, she
brushed her eyes again, and wept a little. Then, on a sudden thought,
she sprang to the curtained corner, and, groping among mattresses and
sweat-stained coverlets which the ladies from the Mission never dared
turn over, brought forth a picture of the Blessed Virgin which Iskender
had made for her with the help of a paint-box given to him by the Sitt
Hilda on his eighteenth birthday. This she set upon a stool against
the wall and, crossing herself, knelt down before it