“Thou wouldst not wed her, surely?”
“I love—that is enough. My life flows out to her. There is but one beloved!”
“Ma sh’ Allah!” murmured Hassan, in the utmost consternation. “She is a girl like another. There is nothing told of her. A virgin has no form, no color, no fire, save that one gives to her. For me she is nothing; for thee, much. As for character, she has none, which means she is a young girl.... But reflect, O my dear! When thou returnest to Istanbûl——”
“I shall not return.”
“Ma sh’ Allah!” muttered Hassan again, and he kept silence a great while, munching his long mustache. At length he said, “I must inform thy brother, my lord the Bey, of this thy decision.”
“Tell him,” said Shems-ud-dìn.
On the morrow he was roused betimes by Hassan’s hand on his shoulder.
“Arise, O my soul, and come with me to my lord the Bey. I have seen him already.”
It was a gray dawn threatening rain. In silence they repaired to the house which Milhem had occupied since the approach of winter. The great man sat upon his bed to receive them.