“You have heard how a Nazarene did lately pollute the harìm of a respected Muslim in this city. The culprit—Jurji by name—is now in prison awaiting his doom. Of right he should die, for a man’s house is a sacred place and a breach of hospitality is the blackest of all crimes in the sight of Allah. Yet it is known that a Frankish consul—one who has the ear of the Wâly—is active on his behalf. He may be released without punishment. What say you to that? Is so great a wrong to be borne tamely? Since these things are so, were it not seemly that the faithful should rise as one man against the heathen and slay every living soul of them, and burn their houses with fire? Allah is just!”
The sun had set behind the mountains and twilight was stealing on the street without. The shadow in the tavern from being blue and limpid was become black and opaque. The coo of the doves floated on a tired murmur. Through the open door the negro merchant was seen to take down his awning, bestow his wares carefully in a battered packing-case, and finally to invert the trestle which served him for a stall, and laying the case and the folded awning between the legs, drag it away with him. The wall which closed the outlook was pale and dead-looking, the bush of hyssop making a dark blot upon it. Abu Khalìl was awake at last. He stood by the threshold of the inner room, trimming a lantern with ponderous leisure.
The old beggar leaned forward with flaming eyes. He laid his sound hand on the delicate woof of the lawyer’s sleeve.
“I am with thee, effendi!” he cried. “Whenever the cry of the Faith is raised, Mustafa will be ready! I will spare none of them!” he yelled with sudden frenzy—“not one! Old men and young, women and little ones, shall die, and in their death I will spit upon them and spurn them with my foot. But the girls, effendi”—he sank his voice to an eager whisper—“the girls should not be slain. There are sweet ones among them—not so, Saïd, my son? They whose fathers hate and revile the Faith shall give birth to true believers. Each one of them shall suckle a Muslim at her white breasts. I am with thee I say! But wait, thou hast not heard what was done to my sister, nor yet the oath which I swore before the Qadi in the time of Ibrahìm Basha the Egyptian. Aha, that is a good story—capital! …”
With a gesture of contempt and impatience, in which there was a leaven of terror, the lawyer shook himself free of the old man’s grasp.
“Thou art mad!” he exclaimed. “What have I in common with thee?” Then a little ashamed of the fear he had shown, he continued, in a very firm voice—
“Am I he that gives orders to the faithful? I do but utter that which every believer knows to be true. You have heard how it has been foretold that when the first of the sevens shall fall the ruin of Islâm will begin; when time shall invert the second it shall be completed.3 Are we not now in the year 1277 of the Hejra? The first of the sevens is about to fall, and with the third year hence the second will fall in its turn. In the insolence of the Nazarenes and the growing power of their protectors we see the seed of destruction. If the sun of the Faith must set—which Allah forbid!—I say let its setting be like unto its rising long ago! Let flames of burning houses lick the sky, and the blood of the idolaters flow like a great river. I foresee war. It breaks out in the Mountain, where the Mowarni openly declare themselves to be subject to the French alone. They grow boastful and overrate their strength. Soon they will provoke the Drûz, who, though less numerous than they, are braver by a great deal and better skilled in warfare. Who but Allah can foresee the end of it? But I, being a lawyer and learned, tell you that as a spark falling amid a heap of touchwood, so is a little war in a land of discontent. Though but ten men rise boldly against the heathen, in a few days there will be slaughter from Haleb to Oman! Allah be with you! May your evening be happy, O my friends!”
With a slight reverence to the company, which called forth a storm of compliment and blessing, he rose, and gathering his furred garment about him sauntered forth into the twilight.
Abu Khalìl had lighted the lantern by this time, and it hung from a hook beside the inner door. Its ruddy
