With the blessing Mîtti [Transcriber's note: Mîtri?] kissed Iskender on the brow, and pressed his hand. They were then quite near the little house upon the sandhill; could see light streaming from its open door and, silhouetted on the light, Iskender's mother looking out for him.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed, when her son came bounding through a gap of the cactus hedge. "Praise be to Allah thou art still alive and well! I have kept a bowl of lentils hot for thee, which is more than thy deserts, O shameless one! O my despair, ever to have borne such a son! When—when wilt thou learn discretion? Why didst thou express a hope that thy Emîr would foul the beard of the Father of Ice, and that in the hearing of the son of Costantîn? Here have the ladies been again to-day, railing against thee as the worst of malefactors. By Allah, I can keep thee here no longer. Yet whither canst thou go, unhappy boy, for now I learn that thou hast angered thy Emîr? Thy uncle, the respectable Abdullah, has been here in great trouble for thee. He has this day returned from Beyrût, that great, splendid city, and I thought that he had come to tell me of its progress and high fashion. But no, it was for thee he came. In the town, on landing he had heard the tidings of thy downfall. Why hast thou hid the truth from me these many days? I could have fallen lifeless when I heard him say that thou art nothing, that Elias is the friend of thy Emîr. Whence came that money thou didst show me? Was it stolen? Tell me, O unfortunate! I am thy loving mother, and shall not condemn thee."
Iskender laughed at her concern.
"It is true," he said, "that my Emîr did for a time prefer Elias. But now, praise to Allah, all is well again!" And he proceeded to relate what had happened that morning in the orange-garden.
"May Allah reward our father Mîtri!" his mother exclaimed. "But I would not have thee go too far in friendship with him, on account of the missionaries, who may yet forgive thee. To-day when I condemned thy conduct fiercely, their hearts, I could see, were touched with pity for thee. Now if I drive thee forth, and vow never more to look on thee, there is a chance they will forgive thee quite. It is certain that they do not love Asad as they loved thee. By Allah, I should like to see my son a mighty clergyman. Then I would wear fine Frankish hats in their despite; and thou couldst wed the Sitt Hilda, though she is old for thee. To-morrow, therefore, seek some new abode.… Allah cut short thy life! Thy wits are wandering. Is the matter of my speech so light, O misbegotten?"
Iskender, who was half-way through the mess of lentils, protested with his mouth full that he had heard and would obey. But his tone was so indifferent as to increase his parent's wrath. To one deep in thought of the valley of gold, her words seemed trash. She stormed unceasingly till they had both lain down to rest and the night-light was burning fitfully on the ground between them. Then at last came peace; she snored aloud; while Iskender thought of the valley full of gold, whose true existence had been miraculously revealed to him, and then of the career as a church painter offered to him by the priest Mîtri. Anything was better than to be the fatted slave of the missionaries, who, he felt sure, hated him. His desire was to be loved.
In the morning early he returned to the house of Mîtri. As he reached it a noise of chanting in the little church informed him that the priest was at his duties; so he squatted down in the shade of the ever-green oak, and waited till the service should be ended. Presently a group of brown-legged boys came tumbling out, smiting one another and shouting the minute they had passed the threshold. A few girls followed, all discreetly veiled, in one of whom he recognised Nesîbeh; and then some older people, turbaned men and white-veiled women, among them one blind sheykh with hands outstretched; and finally, after an interval, the priest himself. Iskender sprang to him, and kissed his hand.
"I seek a boon of thee, O lord of kindness!"
"In the name of Allah!" Mîtri seized the suppliant's hands and pressed them to his heart. "Say on; I listen."
Iskender told him how the hatred of the missionaries had reached such a pitch that his mother was obliged to cast him out. He had come to the priest, his best friend, for advice in this dilemma, thinking that he might recommend him to a lodging.