It was October now. The gloom of a great terror seemed gathering over the town. So accustomed had Jack grown to fears and apprehensions that he did not notice it as anything unusual. But he could not fail to notice a most astonishing and unexpected outburst of rejoicing and festivity that came suddenly in the very midst of the gloom. As sometimes in a day of storm, when the great thunderclouds sweep across the sky, the sun looks out for a moment, flashing a shaft of light through the darkness,—so here, when all seemed blackest, a sudden rumour passed from heart to heart, from lip to lip, "The Sultan has granted the Reforms." Not only did the Armenians of Urfa whisper it within closed doors—as they were wont to do with anything bearing, however remotely, upon politics; men said it aloud to each other in the streets and in the shops; and women talked of it as they baked their bread, or drew their water from the fountains. What did these Reforms mean? Did they mean—men said they did—no more plundering Kourds, no more tyrannous zaptiehs, no more dungeons and tortures for innocent men, and, best of all, no more of that wordless, nameless terror that made the life of the Armenian woman one long misery? If indeed they meant this, ought not the whole community to go mad with joy?
The tidings came officially, by telegraph, and were read aloud in the Gregorian Cathedral. There followed, throughout the Armenian quarter, tearful rejoicings, and many Services and meetings for prayer and thanksgiving to Almighty God.
One day, while these were still going on, Jack was walking in one of the narrow streets, when he met a young girl and a boy about Gabriel's age. The girl was wrapped from head to foot in an ezhar, and closely veiled, but the boy he knew well, having often seen him with the Vartonians and with Gabriel—young Vartan Stepanian, the Pastor's eldest son. So he knew the girl must be Oriort Elmas, Shushan's friend, and he saluted both very cordially in passing.
He had not gone on twenty paces when a cry from Vartan brought him back. A tall, powerful Turk had come suddenly through a door in the wall, and being close to Elmas, for the street was scarcely two yards wide, seized her veil to pull it off. Vartan sprang upon him and tried to drag him away, but was not strong enough.
"None of that!" cried Jack in good English. He had no weapon, but he clenched his hand, and putting forth all his strength, dealt the Turk a blow between the eyes that sent him staggering against the opposite wall.
"Allah!" cried the discomfited follower of Mahomet, looking at him with a dazed, astonished air. An Armenian to strike a blow like that! Surely Shaytan had got into him!
"Come—come quickly," Vartan said, hurrying his sister on, for fear of pursuit. "More Dajeeks may come," he explained to Jack, who mounted guard on the other side of Elmas. "Let us go to the church. It is the nearest place where we can be safe."
"The Cathedral?"
"No; that is a long way off. My father's church."