Yûsuf bowed low before Shems-ud-dìn, who, attended by Mâs and Zeyd, yet lingered in the darkening hall. He besought him:
“Deign, O my lord, to write a little—a mere word—to the brother of thy Grace, to the august Milhem Pasha, Pillar of the Throne, that he may know I have done his bidding against all opponents. Write, I pray thee, that I would do aught imaginable to oblige his noble Excellency, that I am the humblest of his servants, that I kiss the earth between his two feet.... O Nâsr, bring paper, ink, and a sound reed, hither to our lord. Deign to sit down. Ennoble my name, which is Yûsuf Effendi, son to Muhammed Effendi, who was formerly Mûfti in this city. May Allah Most High reward the affability of your Mighty Reverence. My house is thy house. Truly, now is my soul between thy two hands.”
Shems-ud-dìn wrote as requested, and handed the paper to the judge, who passed it on to the scribe, who made a letter of it ready for transmission through the post.
Abd-ur-Rahman stood afar off by the wall, lurking in the background, a shadow among shadows.
CHAPTER XXVII
Outside the hall of judgment it was dusk in the streets. Men wending homeward from the place of business hurried past, a dwindling stream. Their lanterns, shining with confined rays, appeared set in the first rich bloom of night like the eyes in a peacock’s tail. Shems-ud-dìn desired no lantern to guide his steps. The dogs beginning to prowl after offal might snarl at his disturbance, he feared not their spite; he cared for nothing earthly. Through a gap in the hard black roofs, the flowers of heaven shone in their pleasant field. He did not observe them, all desire of the eyes, all lust of contemplation having rest within him.
Of a sudden, in a quiet place, Zeyd plucked his robe.
“Haste, O my master; the soldiers follow us!”