"'If he does not in truth'!" repeated Yusuf. "Surely you, Amzi, have no confidence in his visions?"
Amzi smiled. "And yet Yusuf, no longer ago than last night, was ready to believe the testimony of a pauper Jew in regard to similar assertions," he said. "But keep your mind easy, friend; I have not accepted Mohammed's claims. I am open to conviction yet, and I am not hasty to believe. In fact, I must confess, Yusuf, an entire lack of that fervor, of that capacity for religious feeling, which is so marked a trait in my Persian priest."
"Yet you, too, professed to be a seeker for truth," said Yusuf, reproachfully.
"My desire for truth is simply to know it for the mere sake of knowing it," said Amzi.
Yusuf sighed. He did not realize that he had to deal with a peculiar nature, one of the hardest to impress in spiritual things—the indifferent, calculating mind, which is more than half satisfied with moral virtue, not realizing the infinitely higher, nobler, happier life that comes from the inspiration of a constant companionship with God.
"Alas, I am but a poor teacher, Amzi," he said. "You know, perhaps, more of the doctrines of these Christians than I; yet I am convinced that to me has come a blessing which you lack, and I would fain you had it too. And I know so little that it seems I cannot help you. You will, at least, come and talk with Nathan?"
"As you will," said Amzi, in a half-bantering tone. "Prove to me that these Hebrews are infallible, and I shall half accept their Jewish philosophy."
"You cannot expect to find them or any one on this earth infallible," returned Yusuf, quietly. "I can only promise that you will find in them quiet, sincere, upright Christians."
They had reached a sudden turn on the path, and before them, on the top of a steep cliff, stood Dumah, with his fair hair streaming in the sunshine. He was singing, and they paused to listen.
"He is gone, the noble, the handsome,
And the tears of the mother are falling
Like dews from the cup of the lily
When it bends its head in the darkness."