CHAPTER VI
The hills were as negro heads about a fire; twilight, olive-tinted and something luminous, flooded every crevice of the land, as Shems-ud-dìn sat before the house of Zeyd’s wife’s relation, beneath a tree which grew there, concluding a letter to his son Abd-ur-Rahman. The quality of the light obliged him to hold his face close to the reed as it ran. All who dwelt in that place, squatting round upon the stones, watched him with awe and wonderment.
“After inquiry concerning thy dear health”—so ran the screed—“I set forth to thee that, thy sister the little Alia, having been ill a long while, and all which medical science both local and illustrious could do having proved vain, it occurred to me, by the permission of Allah, and seemed no sin, that I should bring her, thy sister aforesaid, to the city El Cûds, where, according to one who spoke with me of this matter, there are found foreign physicians of a science transcending that of the physicians of our own nation; whither therefore I bring her, having journeyed thus far by the grace of Allah, and intending to abide here this night in the village below mentioned in the house of a friend of one of my companions, a good, kind man, may Allah bless him.
“And moreover I inform thee that all is so far well with me, by the mercy of Allah, thy sister yet alive, though weak and worn to the shadow of her thou bearest in mind; but that hearing of the city that it is full to overflowing of Nazarenes thronging to their feast of the Resurrection, I think well to send thee beforehand this word of our coming, that thou mayest seek out a place where I and my companions of the road, to the number of twenty men, may lodge while we remain in the city; a long time or a short, as Allah wills it; and to express my eager hope that thou wilt meet us in the gate to-morrow early, to inform us where the Frank physician dwells.
“Know further that Hassan, our old friend, is with me, and many also of his people, and Shibli, my pupil and thine ancient playfellow, who all for compassion bear me company; that these all salute thee with every blessing, and that I, thy father, yearn exceedingly to embrace thee once again, and may Allah preserve thee ever!”
This letter, a marvel of fine penmanship, though written upon his lap in the failing light, he delivered to one of the Circassians standing ready beside his horse. The villagers, who had squatted silent throughout the writing, crowded now around the recipient, craving leave but to glance at the superscription. “Ma sh’ Allah!” they exclaimed, when it was shown to them. The messenger, proud of his sudden consequence, proceeded to read aloud for their delectation:
“‘To the most illustrious, the most glorious, the most renowned, the most honored Excellency Abd-ur-Rahman Bey, the most respectable, may Allah preserve him ever!’ So it is written, O my uncles!”
And those simple ones heard with rapture, heads bowed as at a blessing.
Then the messenger sprang into the saddle, and, under guidance of a barelegged youth, rode off with a clatter up the stony path between the houses, out by olive groves to the open hill whose brow cut sharp upon the last of sunset.