I entered my room, crossed to the window, and threw it widely open. Hovering over the distant hills I could see the ominous thunder cloud, but the storm seemed to have passed from “Uplands,” and only a distant muttering with the faint dripping of water from the pipes broke the silence of the night. A great darkness reigned, however, and I was entirely unable to see if any one was in the orchard.
Like some mueddin of fantastic fable I stood there.
“Hassan!” I cried—“Hassan of Aleppo!”
The name rang out strangely upon the stillness—the name which for me had a dreadful significance; but the whole episode seemed unreal, the voice that had cried unlike my voice.
Instantly as any magician summoning an efreet I was answered.
Out from the trees strode a tall figure, a figure I could not mistake. It was that of Hassan of Aleppo!
“I hear, effendim, and obey,” he said. “I am ready. Open the door!”
“We are prepared to discuss terms. You may come and go safely”—still my voice sounded unfamiliar in my ears.
“I know, effendim; it is so written. Open the door.”
I closed the window and mechanically descended the stairs.