"He went out early," she said, "but his return cannot be delayed: I see him coming even now."
A fine lad of twelve or fourteen now came up, holding a gun in one hand, and with the other leading a large tawny greyhound, whose sedate physiognomy contrasted with the bright, joyous face of the young Arab, as he ran to meet his father. He paused a minute as he passed the spot where the soldier's horse was tethered, and then embraced his father.
"My heart is joyful that you have returned in peace," said he, "but—" and he turned an inquiring and pained look towards the place whence he missed his loved companion.
"Yes, my boy," said Ali, "a stranger stands in the place of your friend, you will see Gazelle no more—he fell in a fray by the hand of an enemy."
"Gone for ever!" cried Ishmael: large tears rose to his eyes, which he could not control, and dashing down the stock of his gun, with childish wrath: "would that I had here the base-born that did the deed, even this tent should not protect him from vengeance!"
"Be silent, boy! you know not what you say. You are young. But learn that the sanctuary of this tent should protect even the murderer of thy father! But here, put away these things," giving him his sword, gun, and accoutrements.
Ishmael felt the justice of his father's reproof; but his young mind thought it a great hardship to forego a just revenge. Having put away the arms in a corner of the tent, he and his father joined in the meal which had been waiting, and was now sent out from the inner tent. By the time they had finished, an Arab was seen approaching, leading a fine iron-grey horse, completely equipped, and they went out to meet him.
"Sidi Hamed," said the Arab, "has sent you this horse to replace the one you have lost, and my lord desires you to be in readiness to mount in a few hours for a long journey."
"Tell the Sheik," said Ali, "that I am grateful for his gift. Is not my life at his service? Say I will await his orders."