The recognition is mutual; it is no recognition of fraternal love. With fierce countenance and hand on sword hilt, the Persian bridegroom faces the man who once stabbed him. Very different indeed is the meeting between the Oriental brothers from that between the Hartleys.
There was the silence of surprise; but not for long. Ali looked upon one whom he had wronged, one whose blood he had shed, one to whom reparation should be made and vengeance offered. The Amir drew his dagger, held its hilt towards his brother, and bared his own breast. "Faiz ul Din! Strike if thou wilt; I resist not!" he said.
Faiz ul Din haughtily waved his hand. "We strike not the unresisting," he said. "I take no revenge; for our mother's dying charge was that I should pardon thee, O Ali, as she had done."
With fierce countenance, and hand on sword hilt,
the Persian bridegroom faces the man who once stabbed him.
"My mother dead!" exclaimed the Amir.
All's evident grief, intensified by remorse, did more than anything else to soften the resentment felt by Faiz ul Din, who, whatever he might be as a brother, was an affectionate son. For their mother's sake, he was willing to pass a sponge over the past, and make his own bridal festivities an excuse for even welcoming the presence of his only brother.
At command of Faiz ul Din, a magnificent tent was pitched, and the camel-drivers stopped their noisy disputes at the thought of the coming feast, of which all would partake together. Preparing the banquet was now the order of the night as regarded those without the tent, while within it, the Persian Amirs sat down to smoke their narghillahs and partake together of a repast. Robin pressed into the tent; he could let nothing make Ali forget his promise concerning Harold. The Persian was reminded of it by Robin's anxious pleading face before a word was spoken, and turned towards his own newly found brother.
"It is strange, O Faiz ul Din," said Ali, "that I should have at once to ask a favour of him whom I have wronged; yet so it is, for I am bound by a promise. This Feringhee," the Persian glanced towards Robin as he spoke, "has saved my life, and I have vowed to deliver his brother from bonds. That brother is one of your slaves, but he cannot have been so for long. Will you exchange him for my favourite steed, a pure Nejdean, the fleetest and finest to be found in Arabia?"
"My slave?" said Faiz ul Din. "Oh, yes, I remember, the handsome white one whom I received yesterday as a gift from my father-in-law, with a little Feringhee child. Take them both, my brother," continued the generous Persian; "I require neither them nor thy steed."