Scourged by his master’s mild reproof of him for loitering, Zeyd needed no second reminder to make haste. With the bounds of a goat he scaled the rocks and ran along by the foot of the city wall. The noble words which had enthralled him to forget duty boomed in his brain, making earth heaven, wrapping him in a cloud of gorgeous imagery. As he neared the gate, a band of soldiers marched out silently, attended by a little horde of ragamuffin Jews and Christians. The arrow of the sheykh, he scarce perceived them, intent only upon the will of his master, to do which was in itself a rapture. He measured not his pace on such an errand, and it was with surprise, when nearing the house of the Frank physician, that he found sweat streaming from every pore.
He knocked thrice before anyone answered, and then it was not Ismaìl’s voice, but that of the serving maid, which smote his ear:
“Who is there? What would you?”
“It is I, Zeyd ebn Abbâs, having an errand to the khawâjah.”
“Art thou alone out there? Is it sure there are none beside thee?”
“By Allah, it is sure. Who else on earth should there be?”
“Then enter and behold the work of thy master. O day of my grief! O wicked day!... The hakìm is not in the house. It is now two hours since he went forth. Allah grant they have not killed him also, the wicked ones!”
Thus lamenting, she let Zeyd in. He dared not, for his soul’s weal, glance at her unveiled face. Her sobs and reproaches vexed him. They called for retort, but he dared not parley with the mistress of so great attractions.
“Y’Allah! Come and see what thy master has done for us, his benefactors! The hakìm will soon return, in sh’ Allah, and then thou shalt hear truth for once in life. It is two hours since he went out to the house of the consul. Aha, a proper vengeance shall overtake thee and thy master and all thy race of dogs!”