“May Allah increase thy wealth!” murmured Saïd, laying down his burden upon the bed.
“Leave a woman to the care of a woman,” said the man of the house, beckoning him to the doorway. “This woman of mine will tend her and, after a little, we will drink some coffee.”
Saïd squatted down beside his host, just within the shadow of the room. The outlook was of stony hills whitening under the burning noonday sky, and in the foreground the low mud roofs of the village in broken terraces.
“Whence comest thou?” asked the lord of the house, after a silence spent in the rolling and lighting of cigarettes. Saïd told him the name of the village where he had passed the night.
“Didst thou meet any man by the way?” he asked with sudden interest. “My brother—his name is Farûn—set out this morning on the road to the plain. He is a short man and very fat. He rides upon a camel laden with stone. Hast seen him?”
“Yes, I saw him,” replied Saïd, thoughtfully, as one recalling a picture to his mind. “He was sitting by the wayside and blood streamed from a wound in his head. His camel strayed browsing at a little distance. He told me that robbers had fallen suddenly upon him in the way. They had taken all that he had of money. They had beaten him with a stick and stoned him. I helped him to bind up his wound and gave him of my money—all that I could spare. Then I saw him mount upon his camel and ride away. He bade me tell his brother what had befallen him when I should reach this village. The sickness of my woman had ousted it from my mind till now.”
“Now, may Allah requite thee, for thou art a good man and bountiful!” said the other, with eyes and hands upraised. “I hold thee as my near kinsman for this kindness done to my brother. My house is thy house. Rest here tonight, I pray thee. Tomorrow, about the third hour, my brother will return. Abide with us till then that he may thank thee once again. By Allah, I think he would slay me were I to suffer thee to go thy way unfeasted. Stay at least till the evening. Seeing the mishap which has befallen him it may well be he will return ere night. By the Quran, it is lucky that the robbers did not take his camel also!”
“I cannot stay,” said Saïd hurriedly. “My brother is dead in Damashc-esh-Shâm and I go to claim the inheritance. I must hasten on my way.”
“If not for thine own sake, for the sake of thy woman abide here till evening,” urged the host.
Saïd appeared wrapt in thought for some minutes. His face was moody with knitted brows. Of a sudden it brightened.
“For myself, I cannot stay,” he said. “But it were well for my woman that she should rest a while till the sickness leave her. …”
His eyes looked eager inquiry at the other.
“She is welcome and more than welcome!” cried the host, without hesitation.
“May Allah increase thy wealth!” murmured Saïd, fervently, making a low salaam. “When I come to the city I will send to fetch her, and thy reward shall be very great. Think not because thou seest me poorly clad that thou art showing kindness to a beggar. My brother was rich and I go to claim the inheritance.”
He glanced furtively towards the couch, in fear lest Hasneh should have heard anything of his speech. But her eyes were closed, and her bosom’s rise and fall was of one in a peaceful sleep, gentle and even. Her robe hung open at the neck showing something round and yellow nestling in the soft brown hollow between her breasts. It was the orange which she had forborne to eat that morning. The sight of it in the bosom of the sleeping woman warmed Saïd’s heart to something like pity. It was an appeal to his good nature, the stronger for being voiceless. For a moment his purpose was shaken.
“All to gain: nothing to lose!”
His heart hardened as he recalled the words of the old beggar. There was a glint of steel in his eyes as he turned them once more upon his host.
“It is past noon,” he said. “In thy grace I depart. Take care of the woman belonging to me and thy reward shall be great. May thy wealth increase!”
“My peace with thee!” said the man, staring at him with amazement. “But stay at least until thou hast drunk coffee with us. See! it is almost ready.”
Saïd dared not break the law of hospitality. He waited, fidgety, and ill at ease like one sitting upon a red-hot iron. He shifted his seat continually, and his eyes kept veering round to where Hasneh lay asleep, yet never looked at her. When at length a tiny cup of coffee was put into his hand he flung his head back and swallowed the whole contents at a gulp. Then he pressed both hands to his chest and his whole body writhed. He had forgotten in his haste to drink and be gone that the stuff was scalding hot. Tears streamed from his eyes, sweat stood in great beads on his forehead as he set down the empty cup and rose to take his leave.
“Thou art a fire-eater, by Allah!” cried the lord of the house, staring aghast at him, cup in hand. “Why art
