Willard’s brain was a blank. But against the blank a phrase suddenly flashed out in letters of fire, and he turned and spoke it to his master. “Say among the heathen that the Lord reigneth.”
“Ah—.” Mr. Blandhorn, with a gasp, drew himself to his full height and hurled the Koran down at his feet in the dung-strown dust.
“Him, Him declare I unto you—Christ crucified!” he thundered: and to Willard, in a fierce aside: “Now spit!”
Dazed a moment, the young man stood uncertain; then he saw the old missionary draw back a step, bend forward, and deliberately spit upon the sacred pages.
“This ... is abominable....” the disciple thought; and, sucking up the last drop of saliva from his dry throat, he also bent and spat.
“Now trample—trample!” commanded Mr. Blandhorn, his arms stretched out, towering black and immense, as if crucified against the flaming sky; and his foot came down on the polluted Book.
Willard, seized with the communicative frenzy, fell on his knees, tearing at the pages, and scattering them about him, smirched and defiled in the dust.
“Spit—spit! Trample—trample!... Christ! I see the heavens opened!” shrieked the old missionary, covering his eyes with his hands. But what he said next was lost to his disciple in the rising roar of the mob which had closed in on them. Far off, Willard caught a glimpse of the native officer’s bobbing head, and then of Lieutenant Lourdenay’s scared face. But a moment later he had veiled his own face from the sight of the struggle at his side. Mr. Blandhorn had fallen on his knees, and Willard heard him cry out once: “Sadie—Sadie!” It was Mrs. Blandhorn’s name.
Then the young man was himself borne down, and darkness descended on him. Through it he felt the sting of separate pangs indescribable, melting at last into a general mist of pain. He remembered Stephen, and thought: “Now they’re stoning me—” and tried to struggle up and reach out to Mr. Blandhorn....
But the market-place seemed suddenly empty, as though the throng of their assailants had been demons of the desert, the thin spirits of evil that dance on the noonday heat. Now the dusk seemed to have dispersed them, and Willard looked up and saw a quiet star above a wall, and heard the cry of the muezzin dropping down from a near-by minaret: “Allah—Allah—only Allah is great!”