All this was bitter as death to Saïd. His teeth and hands clenched. For a moment he thought of nothing but to pursue those two who had wronged him over sea and land, to slay them, if it might be, in each other’s arms. He saw his son attired as a Christian, despised and ill-treated by the pig, his enemy. He gnashed his teeth with the knowledge that men made mock of him, that his name was become a byword of scoffing to unbelievers in distant lands. But he swallowed the gall of his anguish as best he could. When he spoke it was with a scornful countenance.
“O my eyes, a part of thy tale is true, but not all. That son of a pig, that Christian of whom thou tellest did certainly carry off a woman of mine, but what is that?—I can afford to replace her. As for the child, I have been concerned for him, but now that I know whither they are gone I will inform the Government, and it shall go ill with me but I will recover him. The woman did in truth rob me of a sum of money; but she was not fully in my confidence. There were two hoards, thou understandest, hidden in two separate places. She mistook the lesser for the greater, and so, far from being ruined, as she fondly supposed, I am now, by the blessing of Allah, even more prosperous and higher in honour than I was before. Allah is just!”
“Praise be to Allah!” said Abdullah, feelingly. “I rejoice with thee”; and upon that he wished Saïd a happy night and withdrew, saying that he must hie to bed, as he was to start betimes on the morrow on his journey home. So these two, so long asunder, met once more on friendly terms and lied freely one to the other, neither doubting his fellow’s words.
Saïd slept ill that night. Divers projects turned in his brain, distracting him. Every forward course seemed grievous, fraught with danger. There was but one bright point in all his weary musings as he tossed to and fro upon his pallet—the face of a girl he had seen once in a garden—an English girl and mistress to the son of a pig, a dragoman. He recalled all that he had heard of the land of the English, and ever he swore, with Allah’s leave, he would contrive to go there ere he died.
Selìm was abroad early in the morning, for there was much to be done, and in his loving care for his former master he took all charge of it upon himself. First, he visited sundry taverns and places of resort, publishing the news that he had two fine donkeys for sale. By the third hour there was a small crowd gathered at the stable, and the sale, when it took place, was in the nature of an auction, one man bidding above another. When that was done and the beasts had been led away by their purchasers, Selìm betook himself to the Seraï to get permission to leave the country, and have the passports put in order. He was so long absent on this business that Saïd, who waited him at the khan, began to be uneasy. When at last he did return, the expression of his face was woebegone in the extreme. Saïd cried out in alarm to know what was amiss. Whereupon the faithful fellow wrung his hands, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
“O Saïd! O my brother! Allah be my witness, I have striven long with prayer and argument to turn their hearts; but in vain. Ah, woe is me, to be the bearer of such ill tidings! Know, O my beloved, that the men of the Government gave me free leave to depart with my family; as thou knowest, I have a letter which Ismaìl Abbâs—may Allah requite his honour!—procured for me from the Wâly. But thee they will by no means suffer to quit the land, both because thou hast no such letter, and for some other cause which is hid from me. All my entreaties, all my reasons were unavailing; thou art forbidden to travel further by order of the Government.”
Fear came into Saïd’s eyes as he heard. Heretofore the Government had seemed to him remote as the sky is, something impassive, neither friend nor foe. He had stood in the same vague awe of it that a simple man has of some mighty engine whose working is a mystery to him. Now that he suddenly found it his enemy, the shock was like an earthquake destroying old landmarks. He remembered the dark net of which the Chief of Police had spoken, and felt himself already caught in its meshes.
“I must leave the country, and that at once!” he muttered fearfully. “In the old days I was known for a strong swimmer. Say, O Selìm, is there no ship far out in the bay, beyond call of the Custom House, to which I can swim by night?”
“There is an English ship, O my brother—a steamer which comes hither at times with merchandise. She will depart, they tell me, tomorrow after sunrise. She lies tonight in the bay, but far out; thou couldst hardly swim so far. If thou trustest indeed to escape by swimming, wait two days, I pray thee, until our steamer arrives, so we may yet journey together.”
Saïd caught at the words “an English ship.” In a flash he had a vision of fair forms, and faces full of love, in a light subdued and gentle—the light, as he conceived it, of cloudy Lûndra. The next moment he was reminded of the woman who was a clog upon him, and he broke out fretfully—
“There is Hasneh, … O Lord! … How may I be rid of Hasneh? I must escape at once; this very night I must swim out to the English steamer, and she alone hinders me.”
Selìm heard
