ight, Love, and Will, even thy
Nabobs in the end shall curse thee; and with these, thy hammals under
their burdens shall thank the heavens under which thy domes and
turrets and minarets arise."

CHAPTER IV

ON THE OPEN HIGHWAY

And Khalid, packing his few worldly belongings in one of his reed
baskets, gives the rest to his neighbours, leaves his booth in the
pines to the swallows, and bids the monks and his friend the Hermit
farewell. The joy of the wayfaring! Now, where is the jubbah, the
black jubbah of coarse wool, which we bought from one of the monks? He
wraps himself in it, tightens well his shoe-strings, draws his fur cap
over his ears, carries his basket on his back, takes up his staff,
lights his cigarette, and resolutely sets forth. The joy of the
wayfaring! We accompany him on the open highway, through the rocky
wilderness, down to the fertile plains, back to the city. For the
account he gives us of his journey enables us to fill up the lacuna in
Shakib's _Histoire Intime_, before we can have recourse to it again.

"From the cliffs 'neath which the lily blooms," he muses as he issues
out of the forest and reaches the top of the mountain, "to the cliffs
round which the eagles flit,--what a glorious promontory! What a
contrast at this height, in this immensity, between the arid rocky
haunts of the mountain bear and eagle and the spreading, vivifying
verdure surrounding the haunts of man. On one side are the sylvan
valleys, the thick grown ravines, the meandering rivulets, the
fertile plains, the silent villages, and on the distant horizon, the
sea, rising like a blue wall, standing like a stage scene; on the
other, a howling immensity of boulders and prickly shrubs and plants,
an arid wilderness--the haunt of the eagle, the mountain bear, and the
goatherd. One step in this direction, and the entire panorama of
verdant hills and valleys is lost to view. Its spreading, riant beauty
is hidden behind that little cliff. I penetrate through this forest of
rocks, where the brigands, I am told, lie in ambush for the caravans
traveling between the valley of the Leontes and the villages of the
lowland. But the brigands can not harm a dervish; my penury is my
amulet--my salvation.

"The horizon, as I proceed, shrinks to a distance of ten minutes' walk
across. And thus, from one circle of rocks to another, I pass through
ten of them before I hear again the friendly voice of the rill, and
behold again the com