“Wilt ride with me?” asked Hassan Agha. “It falls not often to the lot of woman to roll two men’s heads at once upon her knees. Have no fear, my daughter. They shall not bite thee.... Nesìb and thou, Ali, stay and guard these people. Be mindful to use them with respect for the sake of the saintly Shems-ud-dìn, to whose house they belong. Allah be with you.”
He had risen in the act to spur his horse, when Fatmeh, repressing her terror of the ghastly heads, caught his stirrup.
“O my lord!” she entreated, “of thy goodness breathe no word to the sheykh, my master. He knows naught of my coming hither——”
Hassan cut short her prayer with a loud laugh.
“Then say nothing to thy lord of my two heads. Call it a bargain, O my dear!”
And he rode off at speed with his men in the sun’s first rays.
CHAPTER III
When Shems-ud-dìn set forth from the town, there was great excitement. Babes were held up by their parents to watch the saint ride by. A cry arose that he should bless the place; and he did so, sitting on his old white horse, adorned with old trappings of scarlet and light blue and gold which had not seen service for twenty years. The little city on its hillside, then, in the early sunlight, looked restful as a flock of sheep at noon. There were tears in the sheykh’s eyes as he turned and rode away.