His victim—praise to Allah—was not killed; nor even, by His mercy, maimed for life; but the ensuing uproar in the house may be imagined. The murderous child had been imprisoned in a room apart; the lord of the harîm, when summoned, had sent at once for Yûsuf Bey, who was even now examining the culprit. Directly the responsibility had been lifted off them, they (the ladies) had flown straight to Barakah to assure her of their unimpaired affection. But—merciful Allah!—what was the world coming to? They sought refuge in Allah from such revengeful fury in so small a child.
“You must have used him very cruelly,” the mother cried. “He is by nature the most generous of children, not a criminal!”
At that, all four began to talk at once. Barakah talked against them, and the slave-girls and dependants, looking on, raised cries. The argument was at its height when Yûsuf was announced. The din ceased instantly. The four Circassians raised their mouth-veils in alarm and slipped away; the servants, silenced, went into another room.
Yûsuf entered, stern of countenance, dragging by the arm the peccant boy, whose mouth hung open, while his eyes stared wildly, fixed in the imbecility of abject fear.
Barakah fell down at her husband’s feet and screamed for mercy. He was obdurate.
“Let be, O woman!” he commanded. “My child, as trained by thee, is now a malefactor. He robs and kills; he breaks the law of hospitality. He stole a weapon from Ghandûr, his foster-father, and with it stabbed a little girl, whose guest he was. Henceforth I take him from thee, and give him to my mothers to be educated. Seek not to counteract their efforts, or by the Ca’abah I will beat thee soundly as I now beat him.”
With that, he marched his son into an inner room, whence presently there issued sounds of blows and bitter wailing. Barakah ground her face upon the floor and stopped her ears.
Muhammad, by his father’s orders, was shut off from her that night; and the next morning, before Yûsuf went to business, the Pasha’s harîm carriage came to fetch the child. The eunuch brought a letter from Murjânah Khânum, inviting Barakah to come and give her counsel. But Barakah’s sole answer was an angry cry.
For several days she would not budge from her own rooms, refused to see the Pasha’s ladies when they called, and persisted, notwithstanding every argument, in posing as the victim of most foul injustice. And Umm ed-Dahak coaxed and soothed her all that while. At length, one day, Murjânah Khânum entered, unannounced; and Barakah, in act to rise and make indignant protest, was silenced by the sight of her own child.
“Go, O Muhammad, do what I have told thee,” said the old lady, with her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Whereat Muhammad went up gravely and bowed over his mother’s hand to kiss it, but she caught him in her arms, preventing him. He called out to Murjânah Khânum that it was not fair, and struggled to get free. She put him down, when he went on with his polite performance, kissed her hand and pressed his forehead to it, inquired after her health and asked her blessing; and then in the most courtly Arabic asked what he had done that one of his parents, who were dearer to him than all living creatures, should punish him by five days of avoidance.