Gordon stood silent and motionless.
"Allah! Allah!" mumbled Ishmael, who was now scarcely able to hear or see.
Last of all, Gordon returned to the story of Helena, showing how she had suffered for the impulse of vengeance that had taken possession of her; how she had wanted to fly from Ishmael's camp, but had remained there in the hope of helping to save his people, and how at length she had saved them by going to the Consul-General to prove that the pilgrims were not an armed force, and by ordering the light that had led them into the city.
Ishmael was deeply moved. With an effort, he said—
"Then ... then she was yours from the first, and while I hated you because I thought you had come between us, it was really I ... I who ... Allah! Allah!"
Gordon having finished, a silence ensued, and then Ishmael, looking at the photograph which was still in his trembling hands, said, in a pitiful voice—
"God sees all, and when He tears the scales from our eyes—what are we? The children of one Father fighting in the dark!"
Then he rose to his feet, a broken man, and approaching Gordon, he tried to kneel to him; but in a moment Gordon had prevented him, and was holding out his hand.
Nervously, timidly, reluctantly, he took it, and said, in a voice that had almost gone—
"God will reward thee for this, my brother—for kissing the hand of him who came to smite thy face."