The second Moor, the one who had shouted at Frank in English, now ordered the mob back. He addressed them in Arabic, and they seemed to give over the assault on the boys with great reluctance, drawing back slowly.
Not knowing what might follow this move, Frank held himself in readiness for anything, regarding the old Moor with no little curiosity.
The man turned on the boys, gazing at them gloweringly, as if he longed to annihilate them, yet hardly dared. After some moments, he spoke.
“Knaves,” he growled, “you should die. Do you know what you have done, miserable Christians?”
“Attempted to defend a girl who appealed to us, but I made a sad failure of it,” replied Frank, looking around for the mysterious girl, but seeing nothing of her.
“You have defiled her with your touch, and she is the Pearl of Tangier! But that is not all. You struck Ben Ahmet, who is her uncle and protector, and who is also a descendant of Mohammed, the sacred one.”
“Is that so!” drawled Ephraim, dryly. “Wal, I wouldn’t ‘a’ struck Ben ef I hedn’t thought it necessary. As he’s a trifle older then I be, I’m sorry I hit him at all. Jest tell him I apologize.”
“Bah! That will not wash away the stain. Your blood would have flowed if he had ordered it so. From this hour you are marked. If you remain in Morocco you shall not escape just punishment for your offense. It is best that you delay not in leaving the country.”
Frank whistled.
“This is interesting,” he said, coolly. “We have just arrived.”