He sat down beside Mohammed, drew him close to his side, supporting the boy's head on his bosom, and spoke to him of his dear mother.
"Nor are you poor, Mohammed. Your mother returned to me your love- offering, together with other sums she had saved. I have fifty gold- pieces for you. Yes, fifty glittering gold-pieces! You can now dress better than formerly, until provision is made for your future; and, if you should need advice or assistance, come to me. You know that I am your friend. And now, be happy and courageous; remember that poor Sitta Khadra has suffered much, and let her be at rest now. Another friend is awaiting you above on the rock; will you go up to him?"
"It is Osman, is it not?" asked Mohammed, as be dried his eyes. "Am
I not right?"
The merchant inclined his head. "He could not come down the steep path, or he would be here now."
"I will go to him; I know he loves me. He will not laugh when he sees that I have been weeping."
No, Osman did not laugh. When he saw his friend coming, he advanced to meet him with extended arms, and they embraced each other tenderly, tears standing in the eyes of both.
All was still; nothing could be heard but the murmur of the sea, and the rustling of the wind.
The merchant, who had at first stood in silence beside the two, now walked noiselessly away.
They love each other, and what they have to say, no one else should hear.
Mohammed stands up and dries his eyes; he wishes to be composed.
Osman holds out his hand: