. Here was one at
least to whom she could expose her wrongs, secure of sympathy--a woman
of almighty influence bound to her in the common tie of motherhood.

Was not Iskender clever, handsome, good? For what could any one prefer
that lanky, pig-eyed son of Costantin the gardener--the convert of a
day, whereas Iskender had been a Protestant from his birth? Naturally,
she had looked for some reward of her long adherence. But lo; they
thrust her aside, exalting in her stead the mother of Asad son of
Costantin. They would never have dared to do it if the wife of the
missionary, the excellent mother of George, had not been absent with
her children in the land of the English.

At the first planting of the Mission here upon the sandhills, it had
seemed to many Christians of the town to promise escape from the
repressive shadow of the Muslim, and the protection of a foreign flag
which bore the Cross. O sad delusion! That cold priest, those
bloodless women, considered nothing but their own comfort. To that
they made every convert minister; their notion being to patronise and
not to raise; witness Allah how she herself had slaved for them, obeyed
and flattered them, for twenty years! By the Gospel, it was black
ingratitude that the son of Costantin should be set apart for their
priesthood, be made an Englishman, a grand khawajah, whilst Iskender
was offered employment--mark the kindness!--as a scullion and a sweeper
in their house--Iskender, who had been their favourite till a month ago!

How had he fallen? Ah, that was a joke indeed! Listen, O Holy Miriam
and all saints! It was because one hot afternoon, at their
Bible-class, he had kissed the pretty Sitt Hilda, who sat close to him,
teaching. Forgetting he was no longer a child, she had caressed his
hand approvingly; that was Hilda's tale. A likely one, forsooth! And
the lad quite sick for love of her, as an infant of the female sex must
have perceived blindfold! Already, before that, they had begun to
persecute the lad, finding fault with his painting, his idleness, his
language, his smoking--Allah knows with what besides!--so that he was
vexed in mind, no longer quite himself. From his birth he had been a
sensitive boy, always responsive to a touch of kindness. He was in
love with the Sitt Hilda, and his mind was clouded; she touched him
fondly, and he kissed her mouth. It was all quite natural. As well
blame flowers for opening to the sun! Iskender was