“Oh, Mr Burne!” cried Lawrence, with his face scarlet; and he leaned towards Yussuf, and held out his hand to the Turk, who sat with angry, lowering countenance upon his horse.
“Mr Burne is angry, Yussuf,” said the professor in a quiet, stern manner. “He does not mean what he says, and I am sure he will apologise as an English gentleman should.”
Yussuf bowed coldly, and Mr Preston continued:
“I have the most perfect confidence in your integrity, sir, and as we are brothers in misfortune, and you know these people better than we—”
“Of course,” said Mr Burne, with an angry ejaculation.
“I ask you,” said Mr Preston, “to give us your advice. What had we better do—fight or give up?”
Yussuf’s face brightened, and he turned to the old lawyer.
“Effendi,” he said gravely, “you will know me better before we part, and you will tell me you are sorry for what you have said.”
“I won’t, sir! No, confound me, never!” cried the old lawyer; and he blew his nose like a challenge upon a trumpet.
“I am deeply grieved, effendi,” continued Yussuf, smiling as he turned to the professor, “for this is a terrible misfortune, and you will be disappointed of your visit to the old city. But it would be madness to light. We should be throwing away our lives, and that of the young effendi here, who has shown us of late that he has a long and useful life to lead. It is our fate. We must give up.”