With a clear view all round him and no shades to irk his fancy, Saïd’s panic subsided to a holy awe and he slackened his pace. He was very weary, the weight of his wealth seeming more than he could bear. The howl of a wakeful dog was wafted to him from the distance. In the quarter whence it came black specks were discernible upon a rising ground. It was an encampment of Bedawin or gipsies, Saïd supposed, and instinctively turned his face thitherward. But care for his treasure and the fear of marauders prevented him, and he held straight on.
There was already a bite of dawn in the air when he came to a large khan, square-built and frowning like a fort, and caught the welcome tinkle and stamp of beasts in a stable. There was a well before the gate, watched by a great sycamore-tree. The door was open. Saïd stole among the beasts in the yard and found a snug nook amid a pile of bales. With a sigh of contentment he curled himself up and fell fast asleep.
He dreamed.
It was the last day, or he was newly dead; he knew not which. He was lying spellbound in a place of tombs. Mustafa lay not far from him with a great stone at his head. Veiled women flitted to and fro like phantoms. He knew without looking that Hasneh was among them, and his soul yearned after her. On either side the stone stood an angel, black and shadowy, with a mace in his hand. There was a balance between them, hanging in the air, and they were weighing the works of Mustafa. All that was good went into the one scale and all that was evil into the other. The faces of the examiners were set and moody, as those of men who watch a grave issue. Ever and anon they beat the old man’s head with their maces, so that he shrieked frightfully. Saïd sweated cold with fear lest Mustafa should lose Paradise, and also for his own turn, which was to come.
“This soul is lost, O brother,” said one, gravely. “Thy scale kicks the beam, though each deed placed there counts two of what is placed in mine. Allah is just!”
The other was thoughtful for a space. All at once his stern face brightened. A glory like moonlight emanated from it, flooding all the plain.
“See!” he cried, pointing towards the city. “There is blood—blood of the heathen!—blood of unbelievers!—blood of the enemies of our Master! There is a great pool of it, and it is counted to him for righteousness!”
At that Saïd waxed faint with relief. Hasneh bent over him and peace dropped from her like a precious ointment. The vision faded. There was sweet music of bells—a caravan passing in the distance. With a deep sigh he awoke to a deafening clangour of real camel-bells and the pungent reek of a stable.
It was quite dark and a little chilly. But the khan was astir, and through the gate he could see a white eye of dawn opening over the edge of the desert. Men with lanterns moved sleepily among the beasts. A group of camels were being laden with black millstones, each of which it took four men to lift and hold in position, while a fifth lashed it fast with a strong rope. The task was enlivened by a chant panted in cadence, invoking the help of a holy dervìsh long since in Paradise.
Another and more numerous train of camels had just arrived. They were laden with sacks of corn and seemed to have been journeying all night, for the drivers were stiff and surly. With them was a woman of wretched appearance, who stood timidly in the gate, trying to dispose her tattered veil so as to conceal her face.
A bare-legged hostler threw a coarse jest at her in passing. An idler pinched her arm and tore aside her veil, vowing he was sick for love of her. But a sturdy old man, one of the camel-drivers with whom she had come, interfered. He pushed her insulter away roughly, saying that she was a good woman and none should vex her while he was by.
In the hope of a quarrel, Saïd stole forward among the beasts and merchandise, careful to lift the sack of his trousers above contact with any of the coils of rope, halters and saddles which cumbered the ground. The other camel-drivers stopped work and gathered about the disputants. But the aggressor was a coward, or he thought the woman not worth a fight, for he slunk off, muttering that he knew not she belonged to any man there. Her champion contented himself with nodding his head after him and explaining pithily, in a long growl, how he would have punished obstinacy. Their forms moved black in the gateway; beyond them was the grey dawn upon the plain.
“The woman is thine, O sheykh?” asked one who stood by with a lantern.
“No, by Allah!” answered the champion, with a shade of defiance; “but I hold her as a dear daughter. When I cut my foot upon a stone in the neighbourhood of Mazarìb and thought to die for loss of blood, she used me tenderly and rent her veil that my wound might be softly bandaged. No, she is not my woman, but was given into my care by the men of Beyt Ammeh beside Nablûs. There is a strange story belonging to her.”
At the name of Beyt Ammeh, Saïd pricked up his ears. Observing the form of the woman narrowly, his heart leapt so that it became a lump in his throat.
“The story, O sheykh! Deign to tell us the story!” urged the
