‘Certainly,’ he replied; ‘’tis but a short distance.’ And so saying he took up his long staff. Philip rose to depart.
‘I will accompany you, sir,’ said the Kotwal; ‘the old Sein[[56]] is very curious in his behaviour to strangers, and may not be civil; besides he hath been ill of late.’
[56]. Respectful appellation of a Mahomedan Fakeer.
‘I thank you,’ returned Philip, ‘but I would prefer going alone. I have no doubt the old man will be reasonable, even to a Feringhee. Salaam!’
Guided by the scout, who ran before their horses, they were quickly at the garden we have before mentioned. It had been respected by all; the little mosque was as purely clean, the space around it as neatly swept as ever: the flowers bloomed around the tiny fountain, and the noble trees overshadowed all as closely as when, sick and exhausted, Herbert Compton lay beneath their shade, and blessed God that he had found such a refuge and such a friend as the old Fakeer.
The venerable old man sat in his usual spot under the tamarind-tree; before him was his Koran, which he read in a monotonous tone; his face was very thin, and he looked weak and attenuated by sickness.
‘Salaam, Baba!’ said Philip advancing, ‘we are English officers, who would speak to thee.’
‘Salaam Aliekoom!’ returned the old man benignantly, ‘ye are welcome; the turn of destiny hath allowed us to say that to those whom we have called kafirs; but ye are welcome to the old Fakeer—all are welcome who come in peace and good will. What seek ye?’