XXIII

The house of Yuhanna was at some distance from the scene of riot. Its outer door stood open as on other days, and at the moment when Saïd burst into its pretty court, the girl Ferideh was seated on a cushion in the shade of the lemon-trees, her little brother in her lap. Suddenly, as if the stillness had been some brittle thing, it shivered to a great roar. There was a whirr and a flutter as the pigeons rose in a cloud from their researches on the pavement.

Snatching up the child, she sprang to her feet. The menace of the wild inhuman faces appalled her. She fled towards the door of the house in terror at that inroad of madmen as she deemed them. But the old beggar, outrunning Saïd caught her by the arm and shook her brutally.

“Say, girl, is the pig, thy father, in the house?”

Ferideh winced for the tightness of his grasp. Outraged pride and a certain fearful wonder were blended in her answer.

“Be not so rough, I pray!⁠ ⁠… Know that my father receives no man today, for he lies upon his bed, having fever. Tomorrow he will perhaps be well, and, when well, he is accessible to all who seek him.”

Mustafa laughed aloud, and pushed her so that she staggered backward a few paces.

“He receives no man, sayest thou? By the tomb of the Prophet, he will receive us! Aha, O ’hanna, thou old rat, thou devourer of women, the avenger of blood overtakes thee at last!” He drew a long knife from his girdle and flashed it in the face of the girl.

“Dìn Muhammed!” he cried. “Death to the infidels! Y’Allah!” and rushed into the house, hurling to the ground an old woman, almost blind, who had come to the door seeking querulously to know the meaning of the uproar. The crowd raised a loud shout and pressed after him.

“O holy Miriam! O Yesua, Redeemer of the world, save him, save my father!” shrieked the maiden, falling on her knees, appealing to the sky above, whose bright peace mocked her anguish. The mob, bent on plunder, only laughed at her and praised her looks in passing. She grew white and red by turns, and her lips moved with difficulty as she prayed.

The scared pigeons circled overhead, whirling great flakes of shadow over wall and pavement. Their cooing and the tinkle of the rill from the basin, heard despite the tumult, were heartrending as memories. The still foliage of the lemon-trees cast a dark pool of shadow on the flags. The leaves of a creeper on the wall trembled a little.

Saïd made no attempt to enter the house. He had no thirst for blood, no desire for gain. The screams and yells that arose within only confused his brain. He drew near to the kneeling girl, and she did not see him; but the child saw him and clung closer, burying its face in her bosom. He felt bashful⁠—at a loss how to proceed. The court was deserted now; he thought he would have felt bolder in the presence of a crowd. The shouting and the noise, though friendly, numbed his wits. Forgetful for a moment of what was going on within the house, he began to make playful overtures to her baby brother.

Through an open lattice a frightful shriek rent the air, deadening all other sounds. Another, and then another.⁠ ⁠… The girl leapt to her feet and listened, hugging the little one so tight that it cried fretfully.

“O just Allah! they are killing my father!” she cried, and was rushing blindly towards the open door when Saïd caught her in his arms.

“Unhand me, loose me, wild beast! Let me go to my father. Dost hear his cry? They kill him⁠—an old man and sick, lying on his bed with none to help him.”

She fought him frantically for a moment with teeth and feet, always holding the child fast to her breast. Then, as if all her strength were spent, she gave one bitter cry and was still.

Holding her thus in his arms, Saïd felt uplifted beyond all care of life or death. What matter though a hundred old men were butchered if only he could manage to convey her away from that place to the upper chamber of Nûr, the harlot.

“I suffer with thee, O my beloved!” he murmured soothingly. “But thy father was old; the days that remained to him were few in number. Also the people are mad this day against every Nazarene.⁠ ⁠… Listen, pretty one! If they find thee here they will surely slay thee, and this child also. Now I have so great love for thee that I would not let a hair of thy head be harmed. By Allah, I would slay the man who dared to touch thee with a finger! Come with me, O my soul, and I will lead thee to a place of safety.”

She gave no answer nor any sign that she heard, but weighed heavily upon him. Looking down, he realised that she had swooned.

The little boy, escaped from her embrace, was trotting eagerly towards the door of the house, through which rich carpets and other furniture of price were being flung out pell-mell. Saïd, who was fond of children, called to him that there were devils in there, and bade him fly to some neighbour’s house. Whereupon the little fellow toddled for the street in terror of his life.

He had raised the fainting girl in his arms and was bearing her swiftly towards the outer gate, when Mustafa overtook him.

“Aha, thou performest thy part? It is good⁠—very good! Now listen!⁠—I slew him. See, his blood is still warm on my left hand.⁠ ⁠… I was the first to plunge a knife into him; but, before I smote, I made him teach me the place where his treasure lies hid. At my bidding the multitude held their hands and stood back, knowing that I had private cause to hate him. He told me readily, in a whisper, thinking to save his life. But I slew him⁠—with this knife I slew him. It is a good knife⁠—a sharp knife. By Allah, I love this knife as my brother from this day forth. Ha, ha!”

He sank his voice.

“I go now to secure the money. There is a fountain⁠—thou knowest it?⁠—out yonder among the gardens, built on the pattern of a little mosque. In the pavement of its recess is a loose stone covering a hole where I am used to bury trifles. There I will conceal the wealth, and afterwards I will seek thee at the house of Nûr. Make haste, O my son!⁠ ⁠… Look, there is smoke: they set fire to the house!⁠ ⁠… The girl is pretty, and some of them might quarrel with thee for her sake. My peace go with thee!”

Saïd strode out into the street with his burden and plunged into the network of dark passages and byways he had threaded so often for desire of her. He had not gone far before she began to give signs of a return to consciousness. He paused awhile in a secluded place to give her time to recover. Presently, to his great relief, she was able to stand on her feet, though still dazed and needing support for every step. She asked not whither they went, nor seemed to care. Indeed, she evinced no mind or will of her own, but moved wherever he led her, without reluctance as without eagerness. Her beauty, and the strange sight of a Muslim shepherding a Christian maid, caused the men they met to stare at them; so that Saïd, having no wish to court notice, bade her draw the fall of her white hood across her face, as the Drûz women used to do. She obeyed by a vague movement which told that her mind wandered.

Nûr was cooking her noonday meal on the brazier when they entered. She welcomed Saïd with delight and cast a searching glance at his charge. Then, as he began to explain, she checked him with an impatient gesture and a nod of intelligence. She understood perfectly. He had been sent to sweep the streets of the infidels. Oh, the sin of it! She had heard the news from the son of Abu Khalìl when he brought some figs she had asked of his father. The whole city was ashamed. There had been a riot⁠—not so?⁠—and he had been rescued. And then Mustafa⁠—the old madman!⁠—had led the mob to the house of ’hanna, his enemy. And this then was Saïd’s beloved?

She thrust her painted face close to that pale one and scanned the features narrowly. Then she passed her hands down the loose robe, feeling the limbs beneath.

“She is sweet⁠—a pearl!⁠—a darling!” she exclaimed. “By Allah, thou art in luck’s way, O my soul. Art happy at last?⁠ ⁠… She neither sees nor hears us. Poor love! she is distraught with grief. It happens timely that the upper chamber is ready. I prepared it for the pleasure of a certain effendi, but his girl is a Nazarene and, in these troublous times, will not dare come hither. I will tend her there, the priceless gem! And thou must not come nigh her until the evening. Dost hear, O Saïd? She must sleep and take refreshment, and Nûr will tend her. Wait until the evening, I say; and then, when she is a little rested, I will present thee as her deliverer.”

With that she put an arm round Ferideh’s waist and supported her very tenderly up the flight of steps to the guest-chamber. And Saïd sat on his heels, rolling cigarette after cigarette, drinking glass after glass of rose sherbet, too perturbed to eat though Nûr pressed him to share her repast. And Nûr, for her part, took a malicious joy in his distress, looking forth from time to time from the door of the upper room to wag her head at him and whisper, trumpeting with her hand⁠—

“She is sweet, I tell thee!⁠—white as milk!⁠—a darling! I that am a woman cannot choose but kiss her!”