A change came over the priest’s face. His eyes seemed masked with a delicate film that gave them far-seeing power. The lines of the aged features grew tense and hard, as if deprived of all nervous volition. His head fell slowly forward until the white beard swept to his knees and lay upon them like a drift of snow.
Hafiz drew back, clasping his knees with his hands and looking up at the entranced mufti with expectant gaze.
“The deeds of men bear fruit,” said the voice of the priest, sounding cold and unreal in the intense stillness, “and the sun of Allah’s will ripens it all together and brings it from many parts to be heaped within one measure. The harvest is near, my son. Events will crowd one another like waves lapping the pool’s edge, and from the midst of strife and bloodshed I see you rising calm and serene, with the mark of our gracious Prophet upon your brow.... The Voice of Allah whispers in my ears ... and all is well!”
Silence followed, and neither moved. A shadow crept over the windows, slowly dimming the light. An hour passed, and another. The room was dark now, and scarcely could the Khan discern the form of the priest seated before him. Blackness fell, and the stillness of death remained. From a neighboring minaret the hours chimed sweetly but all unheeded.
Then came a gleam of silver, striking aslant the priest’s face and crossing the room like a solid bar, its end melting against the further wall. The bar grew and spread as the moon rose higher, and soon the entire room was flooded with a mellow light that rendered every object distinctly visible.
As if the radiance brought life in its dancing beams the aged mufti breathed again and moved slightly in his seat. Hafiz, alert to mark the change, softly arose and went to an alcove, returning with a tray upon which was arranged a simple repast. This he placed upon a tabaret beside Salaman and then brought a bowl of water and a towel, bathing the hands and face of his master with a touch as tender as that of a woman. The priest’s expression was normal now, but very thoughtful. He ate sparingly of the food, and afterward the Khan also tasted the dish.
Then Hafiz, having carried away the tray, lighted a small lamp, green shaded, and both men approached the table and sat beside it.
“May I ask of Ahmed, my father?”
“He is now of the Imaum, well favored of the Prophet, his comrade, and happy in pursuit of a divine solution of the mysteries.”
“Here his gentle soul would have been cankered with misery.”