stern, and his ice-green eyes gave forth a sword-flash. "Well, go your
way; God grant it lead not to perdition!" He nodded his head in the
direction of the two palm-trees which marked in the dusk the
whereabouts of Mitri's house.

Iskender, glancing in the same direction, discerned the tall black
figure of the father of Nesibeh in the road, looking out for him. The
idea of evil in connection with the jolly priest suddenly struck him as
perverse and ludicrous. He laughed in the face of the missionary.

"My friends are no worse than your friends. And which of us will be
lost, which saved, will not be known until the last judgment. May Our
Lord forgive your Honour for such bad thoughts."

In a white rage, the Father of Ice remounted his horse and rode away,
disregarding the ironical salute of Mitri, who stood out before his
door, awaiting the arrival of his catechumen.

"What didst thou say to the hog to make him snort like that?" was the
priest's first question of Iskender; and, when the youth informed him,
"By Allah, it was a true word," he chuckled heartily. "They think all
men should be on one pattern--the pattern of their wondrous selves,
whom they esteem perfection. They suppose that what is good for their
race must be good for all the others, thus ignoring the providence of
Allah, Who made the peoples of the earth to differ in appearance,
speech, and manners. They know nothing of our beliefs and ways of
thought, so call them wicked, since they are not theirs. They condemn
men freely, sitting in the seat of judgment, unaware that they
themselves will be judged at the last day. By Allah, there is only one
of all that breed whom one can talk to as a human being--I mean the
little preacher Ward, who runs their errands. He has not been here for
three months or more. From much travelling among the villages, he
knows the customs of our people and respects them. Moreover, he is
modest, while the rest are arrogant. . . . But, merciful Allah, what
is this I see? What ails thee, madwoman?"

The mother of Iskender, stealing forth from the priest's house, had
cast herself upon her son, with fearful moans:

"O Holy Virgin! O my terror! Please God, he did not see me where I
stood in the doorway! Some one has informed him where I go--it must be
Costantin, the spy and liar--and now he rides at dusk to try and catch
me. I shall not come here again; it is too dangerous. Come thou to
the house sometimes quit