“I was telling these, my friends, of the journey I purpose to make. And they have honored me with a mission....”
But Milhem stopped his ears, crying: “Think not of it, I beseech thee, O my brother! I come on purpose to restrain thee. With the permission of these reverend ones, thy thought to go with me is not of wisdom. Does a man right to quarrel with the part allotted? Behold thee here in great honor, with such friends about thee; yet not content! Thou must needs embark upon a venture—very perilous, very tiresome—whereunto no one calls thee. Do not so, O my brother, for the sin is great!”
“Once upon a time Eblìs himself met an angel from Allah, and, looking earnestly upon his face, observed, ‘Sin not, I entreat thee,’” said one of the two old doctors in a manner of abstruse meditation.
Milhem bit his lips. He said, “Who am I to discuss what is right with the law’s exponents? Yet, now and then, in my chamber, I give thought to these high matters. And it has seemed, to my little understanding, a sin that my brother should wander from a road so clear before him.”
“By my beard, I see not the harm!” said the sheykh who had before spoken. “Why should not our friend, the learned Shems-ud-dìn, revisit his native land, a land of true belief? In sh’ Allah, he will enjoy himself there.... But perhaps our lord the Bey would go alone. Two eyes of truth fixed constantly upon him embarrass the statesman.”
“Which is only to say: ‘He would keep his master’s counsel.’ Allah witness, I have no desire save for my brother’s welfare.”
“That is known for certain,” cried Shems-ud-dìn heartily. “But fear not for me. I go gladly.”
Milhem shrugged his shoulders. As soon as coffee had been served he took his departure. Where was the use in staying longer? These dotards showed no intention of moving, and he would not mention his need in their cold hearing.
At a later hour he returned that way, and, seeing Shems-ud-dìn alone in the depths of the shop, ran in and, stooping, kissed the hem of his robe. Through eagerness to convince, he magnified his want a hundredfold. By Allah, by the admirable Korân, he had spent all his inheritance—had sown it rather, hoping to reap a rich crop of honor. His last para had gone to procure this beggarly appointment of governor over sundry wild beasts. On his return, if Allah kept him alive, he would have the offer of a wilâyet. Where in the world could he touch the price of a wilâyet? Rather than borrow of an Armenian or other usurious infidel, he would beg in the gate of one of the mosques; he had not yet decided which. He was in the hand of the Almighty, to whom the praise.... Three hundred thousand piasters at the lowest.... Ma sh’ Allah! It was too much to ask of any man!...
“O my dear, O light of my eyes, O my breath!” cried Shems-ud-dìn, when he could speak for amazement. “Why hast thou kept silence? Is it for this thou didst shun me? Fie on thy pride! Thou hast a share in this business, as in all belonging to me. Talk not of begging when thou hast a trade. There is but little now in my hand; but to-morrow or the day after I will pay thee all I can collect. Of the rest we will speak later. Have no fear! All mine is thine; and, by the blessing of Allah, it may be that my patrimony has increased while thine wasted.”