“I suppose you are quite right,” said the boy. “And so,” with the suspicions of the farmers well in mind, “you devote your time solely to the study of your philosophy?”
“Entirely so,” replied Abdallah, suavely. “It is a great science, and to get even the rudiments of it, one must spare neither one’s self nor time.”
Again came the murmurous sound. Whoever the talkers were, they seemed to be deep in some discussion. As Ezra watched he saw the habitually gentle look leave the eyes of the Oriental; the pleasant mouth tightened and grew hard, the long-fingered brown hands clenched.
“I will ask your pardon,” said Abdallah in his smooth voice. That he was filled with a bitter anger was plain; but he held himself wonderfully in control. He bent his head in a salaam of much dignity; then drawing aside some hangings that concealed a doorway, he disappeared.
Ezra settled back more comfortably into his easy seat.
“Master Abdallah evidently does not lead the lonely life that my friends of a short time ago supposed,” said he. “If these are not regular inmates of his house, they are persons over whom he professes some control; at least his manner said as much.”
There was a huge clock in the room that ticked with steady, solemn regularity. Now and then a candle sputtered or leaped behind its rose-colored shade. But these were the only sounds that Ezra heard.
“Whoever it was, he has silenced them,” smiled the boy. “Behind that soft manner, our friend has a temper of his own. I saw that from the first.”
But another moment proved that Abdallah’s was not the only temper in the house. Suddenly the silence was split by a heavy voice, thundering:
“What do you mean, sir? What do you mean by addressing me in that manner?”