“By the beard of the Prophet I swear it, by the wind and the wool and the honour of the Arab I swear it, knowing him of whom I speak. In the name of my father and my father’s fathers I will stand as bond for this man’s honour. My life for his word, O brother; and life is sweet, even unto those who are born in lowliness. There is much wealth upon the backs of the camels, for behold! the fire has but touched the covering. It is thine in return for his life.”
“It is mine already, O brother!”
Abdul played his trump card.
“Yea, if thou darest to take it. If thou wilt listen to me it will be thine without the fear of questioning from the king of the great white race, who knows the movements of each one of his subjects and meteth out death to those who slay his children or keep them prisoner. I am the white man’s servant; let me but nurse him back to health, heal his wounds and allay his fever so that he may start upon the quest of the white woman he loves, and I will pour the tale of thy goodness into his ears in such wise that peace and plenty will be thine for ever more. Is it not written, brethren, ‘He is the chosen of the people who rejoices in the welfare of others’?”
So it came about as it had been written that, after many hours the birds of prey drew closer to the scene of tragedy, whilst Abdul, holding his master gently in his arms, followed the Bedouins upon camelback as they rode slowly away across the path by which they had so swiftly come.
CHAPTER IX
“The walls have ears.”—Arabic Proverb.
Helen Raynor lay like a broken lily, asleep upon a divan piled with cushions, in a great room built between two ledges of rock high up on the mountainside.