Robin went forward to see what was going on. The youth had not gone many steps when he suddenly stopped short with an exclamation, his whole soul in his eyes,—looking like a man who beholds an apparition. Before him, in the yellow torch-light, stood Harold Hartley, clad in snowy Oriental garments, looking even more startled than himself, for Harold recognised in the form before him, dressed in Persian costume, the brother for whose supposed death he had so bitterly mourned! The pause was a very brief one, each of the Hartleys uttered the name of the other, and then the brothers were locked in such an embrace as might be given to a beloved one newly raised from the dead.
Entirely absorbed in the delight of the meeting, neither of the Hartleys even heard the shrill voice of Lammikin calling down from a camel's height, "Oh! There is Robin at last!"
"How is this, Harold? How came you here?" exclaimed Robin, drawing back a step to look in delighted wonder on his brother, so strangely transformed.
"I am a slave; no free Englishman," was Harold's reply.
"But not another hour shall you remain in slavery!" exclaimed his brother, and Robin darted away to find Ali, whom he met with the joyful exclamation, "He is found! Harold is found!"
"'Where is he?" asked the Persian Amir.
"Here, close by; you will buy him, you will free him," was the excited reply. "Or let me be a slave in his place!"
"I can neither buy nor free your brother without the consent of his master," said Ali, who foresaw difficulties which had not occurred to the eager Robin. "I promise to do what I can, but I cannot ensure success. Present my salaams, the Amir Ali's salaams to your lord," said the Persian in a tone of command to one of the bridal train.
"My lord is yonder; he has just dismounted," said the retainer, with difficulty making his reply heard above the noises around.
Ali strides towards the indicated spot, and approaches the splendidly attired bridegroom, whose back is turned towards him; but who turns round suddenly to confront the stranger? Why do the Amir's knees tremble, why does his face assume so ghastly a hue? Is it joy or terror that is stamped on a countenance usually so stoically calm? Faiz ul Din stands before him. Has the grave given up the dead?