“Allah witness, it is a child—a little child!”
“Now I know why thou wast loath to have me journey with thee. And I confess here, before all these men, that I did wrong not to be ruled by thee then, that I did wrong in cleaving to thee. For great grief is come upon me. My brother, once the best of men, has sinned most heinously, and I am witness of his crime.”
“Said I not he was a saint?” said Hassan triumphantly, from somewhere in the background.
Milhem frowned, stroking his close beard, then smiled indulgently.
“What dost thou know of statecraft? Go, O my brother! and when thou art recovered I will speak with thee,” he said, with some compassion and much dignity.
“I go,” said Shems-ud-dìn curtly, and stepped forth once more into the sunlight.
That night, as he sat with Hassan in the house, the latter mocked at his grave looks.
“Art still vexed about thy brother’s little stratagem? Let not that trouble thee. It is war, thou understandest. The Bedû will take vengeance for this, and we, in turn, shall avenge their vengeance, and so it will go on—in sh’ Allah—till the last day.”
“My thought is not of war,” said Shems-ud-dìn. “Know, O Hassan, that I love once more!” And he related his adventure with the old sheykh’s daughter. “O her eyes! O her straight white nose! O the fullness of her cheeks, her chin!... Now tell me, what character does she bear?”