After that Iskender went to the priest's house every evening, and his mother often stole so far to meet him, hurrying, chin on shoulder, in evident terror of pursuit by the missionaries. She endured all Mîtri's reprobations with a shrug, content so long as he allowed her to embrace her boy.
"Poor people must eat bread. Our Blessed Lord knows that and will make allowance for me," was her reply to the accusation of hypocrisy. But she now seconded Mîtri's designs upon Iskender, gratified by the notion of an alliance with the priest's family. "It is different with him," she admitted, "since they have cast him out. Let Iskender follow the guidance of the Spirit. Doubtless the congregation will take care of his future, for he has forfeited a great career for conscience' sake."
Iskender, however, still held back, from no conscientious reluctance, but merely to prolong a hesitation which he found delicious as giving him value in the eyes of the girl Nesîbeh. Her delight when any of his objections went down before her father's reasoning and the triumphant private glance she shot at him made a joy not lightly to be forgone. When all his veritable doubts had been demolished, he invented others to prolong this happiness. He cherished definite hopes, dream-like as was the nature of his mental process, of obtaining her for his own, when he returned full of treasure from Wady 'l Mulûk. The big priest, it was clear, had conceived a liking for him, and had come to count on his visits of an evening, loving an argument; her mother always blessed him when he came and went, and baked choice sweetmeats for his delectation.
It was not long before Iskender received evidence that the question of his change of faith possessed a lively interest for others besides the priest Mîtri and his lovely daughter. One day, returning from a walk with the Emîr, he heard that the missionary had been inquiring for him in his absence; and the following evening, on the road to Mîtri's house, he was overtaken by the Father of Ice in person, who got down off his horse and addressed him very kindly.
Why did Iskender never come to church nowadays? why had he not been to visit the ladies? why had he refused their offer of employment in the house, which would probably have led to better things, perhaps to his appointment as assistant master in one of the Mission schools? Even now it was not too late to reconsider; they, on their side, were quite willing to forget bygones. It had grieved them much to hear that Iskender was drifting into bad company, and entering on a vicious course of life; still more to learn that he showed an inclination to forget the enlightened religious teaching which he had received in childhood.
His words moved Iskender more than he desired to show, arousing in his mind a thousand happy memories, reproachful now. He replied in Arabic with the sullenness that masks emotion:
"I am a son of the Arabs, and I return to my own kind. Allah knows I am nothing to be considered."
"What do you mean?" asked the missionary in a colder tone.
"Your Honour and the ladies could not make of me an Englishman. It is for that you cast me off."
"We tried to make of you a Christian man." The missionary's face grew stern, and his ice-green eyes gave forth a sword-flash. "Well, go your way; God grant it lead not to perdition!" He nodded his head in the direction of the two palm-trees which marked in the dusk the whereabouts of Mîtri's house.