“Then he does not expect me to perform miracles—to do impossibilities, Ibrahim?” said the doctor quietly.
“No, Excellency,” replied the Sheikh. “The Emir is a half-savage chief, but if he had been born in Cairo and lived amongst the English and the French he would have been great. He is wise. He says little, but he laughs in his heart at the fables of the Mullahs.”
“Then he is too sensible to take me for a prophet.”
“Oh, yes, Excellency; he thinks as I do, that you are a great physician, learned in all the wisdom of the Franks. He is a wise man, but his son is what you English call a fool. But will the Emir’s friend live? His Excellency can trust me.”
“It is very doubtful, Ibrahim,” said the doctor gravely. “There is a bullet lodged in a very dangerous part, and I fear that everything depends upon its being extracted before bad symptoms arise.”
“But the learned Hakim can do all those wonders I have seen, and cuts and sews, and the people grow well and strong.”
“Yes, Ibrahim, sometimes,” said the doctor, with a sad smile; “but not when the bullet, sword, or spear has done too much. The Emir’s friend is very bad, and if we had left to-night and these native doctors had stayed, he would never have seen the light of another day; for his life hangs upon a thread that I am going to watch and strengthen lest it should break.”
“Your Excellency is wiser in my eyes everyday I live,” said the old man softly. “Yes, he is right; if you had left here to-night the chief would have died.”
“What do you mean, Ibrahim?” whispered the professor.
“Your Excellency knows,” replied the old man quietly. “For one thing, they would not have the wisdom to do what is right. For another thing, Excellency, they are jealous with the jealousy of ignorant, superstitious believers in false doctrines.”