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Shems-ud-dìn, with other turbaned voyagers, was in the customhouse, patiently enduring the chicanery of a number of small officials whose end was bakshìsh, when Milhem passed down the middle of the great shed, escorted by the mûdìr and a group of high officers. He overlooked Shems-ud-dìn’s salutation, appeared unconscious of his neighborhood. In loud talk with his companions he walked out at the farther doors, through which the dance of violet waves shone twinkling, and his brother was left to conclude his bargain with the customhouse men, when a nod from the Sultàn’s plenipotentiary might have released him.

On the steamship, bewildered by the novelty of his situation, alarmed by the pushing of rude Franks, Shems-ud-dìn herded for countenance with a little group of the faithful on the fore part of the deck; nor dared to look round for Milhem. The shores and the fair, great city were slipping fast away, ere he descried the latter standing amidships. He ran to him with intent to embrace, but was checked by the formality of his reception.