"You are forgiven: for thus do the people of the city act. But know that an Arab's Pledge is irrevocable. Who," said he, rising, while his face beamed with generous feeling, "who was it that rescued me and returned my father's son to his tents?—A Hebrew! Who restored the chief to his people?—A Hebrew! Who ransomed thy sire, my noble steed, from the galling yoke of an hireling?—A Hebrew! And who saved me from death, and from loss of liberty worse than death, and gave me once more to see the dark tents of my tribe, and to feel my heart again expand in the freedom of my dear native plains? All this weight of benefit was conferred on me by a Hebrew! Did he allow me to perish because I was of another faith? Did he forsake me in peril because I was a Moslem? No! We had this faith in common,—God is the God of nations. Let every man cleave to his own form that he has received from his fathers; but do good to all, like God's rain; and never abandon a son of Adam in distress, because he worships his God in a different manner from himself. And shall the Arab be shamed by the Hebrew? Shall Hamed Ibn Ishem remain in quiet enjoyment of all that the Hebrew's hand has restored, whilst his child lies in peril, and not arise to save her? Go, my friend, our tents are yours. Think better of the son of Ishem, and believe that he never gave a pledge, which, with the help of God, he will not, at whatever peril, to the uttermost redeem."
Yusuf, though his habits and pursuits had given him a practical turn of mind, could not help gazing with admiration at the noble form before him, draped in his falling hayk, his action giving emphasis to his generous speech; and he thought that such a man might have been Abraham, when greeting the angels at the door of his tent.
"May the blessing of the God of our father Abraham be upon you!" said he; and kissing the Sheik's hand he retired to the tent allotted to him, to rest after his long fatigues, and offer up his thanksgiving for the success of his mission.
Ali having disposed of the booty of the Cafila, repaired to his own camp.
"God be praised for your return," said his wife, who flew to embrace him, "how often are you absent now, O my lord, and I am left desolate in the tent!"
She was a type of Arab loveliness, was Zaïda; the bright crimson shone through her tinted, but transparent cheeks, her hair fell, a waving veil, over her shoulders, and her large eyes were turned inquiringly in his face. He returned her embrace, and then releasing himself from her soft arms, he sat down sorrowfully on the carpet, and threw down the soldier's belt.
"It is the will of God," he said; "there is gold, accursed be it, it has cost me my friend—Gazelle is dead!"
"Dead!" echoed Zaïda, and the beautiful creature again threw herself into her husband's arms, and wept on his bosom; she grieved for his loss, she grieved for her own; but she grieved more for what he had suffered. Her grief gave a new turn to his thoughts.
"Be consoled, my darling," he said, caressing her, and wiping away her tears. "God has given and God has taken; but have I not you? Have I not many blessings? Why do I complain? The gold will buy another horse; but—it will be another. Where is my boy? Where is Ishmael?"