He clasped her to him. “Allah is great!” he muttered; more as a convenient explosive than for any bearing the words had upon the case. He marvelled vaguely at the change which had taken place in her during the last few weeks. Formerly it had been hard to win the least endearment from her, but now she lavished tenderness upon him at all times. Once her words of love, when uttered, were spiritless, as though she had them by rote; now they were impassioned even beyond his own. Referring this new fire of hers to the circumstances attending Hasneh’s disgrace, he wondered that so slight a thing should have power to change the whole nature of a woman.
She went on speaking feverishly, gazing ever into his eyes as if she expected something to appear there which was long in coming.
A strange slumber stole upon Saïd. At first it was but a pleasant languor. Then he grew dizzy. Things dilated and dwindled unaccountably. He heard himself murmur, “O garden of my delight!” … and then all was a blank. He knew no more until he awoke in broad daylight to find Selìm bending over him with an anxious face.
“What is the hour?” he inquired drowsily, putting a hand to his forehead. There was pain like a keen dagger in either temple.
“It is near noon, O my brother,” said his henchman with a rueful grin. “I come from the house of Mahmud, where thou hast long been expected. Merciful Allah! What ails thee? Never before have I known thee lag abed. Know, O my master, that Mahmud Effendi is furious at thy delay. He believes that thou hast a set purpose to insult him. All his father’s house are gathered there to witness the sale. O my eyes, come quickly and bring the money humbly in thy hand, for they are very angry and would fain do thee dishonour; but the money will appease them. This is a strange humour of thine, to sleep on the bare floor when there is a fine bed at hand.”
Saïd sprang to his feet and looked about him, searching every corner with his glance.
“Where is Ferideh?” he cried distractedly.
“Allah alone knows, if thou knowest not!” retorted Selìm in great surprise. “When I came hither it was told me that thou and she were together in this chamber, that the door was made fast with a key for a token that you would not be disturbed. Knowing what grave business awaited thee, I presumed to break open the door. Thine was a heavy sleep, O my brother, for thou heardest not the crash of it. It has taken me so long to waken thee that I began to be afraid, counting thee for dead.”
Saïd did not stay to parley. Like a madman he rushed out of the room, through the antechamber, and up the flight of stone steps that led to the roof.
His hiding-place had been rifled. With brutal carelessness the robber had omitted to replace the slab of stone. The hole lay open, quite empty.
Saïd rent his clothes and shrieked for rage and despair. Then he ran down the outer steps into the court so furiously that he fell heavily at the bottom, striking his head upon the pavement. His cap and turban fell off, but he knew it not. He rose, a wild figure, with face all bruised and bleeding, with bare head close-shaven so that the ears stuck out monstrously, and ran forward shouting—
“Where is Ferideh? I command you, tell me where the lady Ferideh is! …”
But the cowering servants had no tidings of her.
“Where Suleyman? Where Sàadeh?”
But there was no answer, only a cringing protestation of innocence from one and all.
His brain reeled. He stretched out his hands vaguely for support, and with a faint cry, “Allah! Allah!” fell lifeless on the pavement.
Cries of distress and horror rent the air. Selìm bent sadly over the form of his sworn brother. Ibrahìm the doorkeeper brought the turban and tarbûsh he had picked up and placed them reverently on his master’s head. Hasneh, who had found freedom in the general confusion, flung herself across the body in a passion of grief.
Saïd was carried back into the chamber where he had slept so long and laid upon the Frankish bed which had been his pride. A leech was called in, who bled him freely. By the evening he was able to get up and take count of his misfortunes. He sat on the bare stones with torn raiment and ashes on his head, crying ever, “O Allah, have pity! … O Lord, take my life also!” so that men wept to hear him.
By the evening, too, his story was known throughout the city. Men thronged to see but the house of a man who had lost his wealth and wife and son in a single night; and Ibrahìm the doorkeeper became a person of great importance. Saïd the Merchant and Ayûb the Prophet were commonly named in the same breath together; and vows of vengeance were freely made against the man, whatsoever his quality, who had caused this great wrong to be done in the city.
IX
Selìm, quite distraught with grief for his master’s adversity, sought the Wâly, the chief of the police, the Mufti, and whomsoever of the great men of the city he thought could succour him. For two days he knew no rest, but was ever on the run from his own lodging to the Seraï or the castle, and back again to Saïd’s house. His efforts were not in vain. Seeing that the whole city was moved by the outrage, the authorities were strenuous in their endeavours to find the culprits. A description of Ferideh and her child, with such conjectures as to the appearance of her paramour as could be formed
