"I can't tell. He is too ill to speak. He is probably as sincere a
Moslem as St. Jerome was a Christian—why not?"
"What's the matter with him?" A little fear clutched at Millicent's heart.
"I don't know—Abdul couldn't discover. The man is too exhausted to talk. I'll speak to him in the morning and find out."
"I hope it's nothing infectious—you were very rash, Mike!"
"It's probably only physical exhaustion. He couldn't eat anything, but he drank the water I gave him. I poured a little brandy in it—he wouldn't have touched it if he had known."
"Oh, wouldn't he?" Millicent's voice expressed her disbelief.
"The Koran forbids the drinking of spirits."
Millicent laughed. "You wouldn't think so when you pass the native cafés in Cairo! I thought you said they lived up to the letter of their religion, and missed the spiritual essence of it?"
"There are Moslems and Moslems. Do we all live up to the spirit of
Christ's teachings? Have you always seen Christ-like Christians?"
Millicent shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I don't pretend to live up to the spirit of my religion. There's the comforting reflection of a death-bed repentance for all Christians—it's never to late to mend, Mike!"