The Sheikh leant forward and silently examined his red leather shoes. For some moments no word was spoken. At length he looked up, and his hand stroked his white beard. “What use is it for me to advise you?” he said. “Your decision is already made. You will leave us; but it is not the glory of office which attracts you, nor yet the call of your duty which bids you depart.”
“What then is it?” Daniel asked.
“My friend,” he answered, after a pause, “no son of Adam, having strength and vitality such as yours, and enjoying the springtime of life, can remain a dervish, an ascetic. It is true that you care little for the world, that you do not desire fine clothes, nor wealth, nor possessions. Yet you are man, and man looks for his mate. You go to choose for yourself a wife.”
Daniel smiled. “You are mistaken,” he answered. “I shall not marry for some years to come.”
The Sheikh shook his head. “No man knows the secrets of his own heart,” he replied, “yet his friend may read them like a book written in a fair hand. I say again, you go to choose for yourself a wife.”
The ready denial was checked upon Daniel’s lips. For a moment he paused, and it seemed to him that a sidelight had been flashed upon the workings of his brain: then he dismissed the thought as being something very nearly fantastic.
“No,” he said, “I am going because I believe it to be my duty. My country needs me.”
The Sheikh made a gesture which seemed to indicate the uselessness of argument. “It is not good for a man to live alone,” he answered, with a sigh. “Some day, perhaps, you will return to us, bringing with you your wife.”
Daniel smiled again, but there was sadness in his face. “El Hamrân is my wife,” he said. “When I go, my heart will remain here.”
“When will your Excellency leave?” the Sheikh asked, becoming suddenly a man of action.