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Despite all attempts to calm him, the sheykh went on shrieking and tearing his raiment. He plucked off his turban and adherent tarbûsh, and cast them from him, exposing his naked poll to the sun of noon.

“Allah witness, I was forced to it!” he yelled madly. “The sons of Eblìs forced me to betray my good lords. They sat as guests in my house when the soldiers took them. Their horses are stolen, they themselves taken to serve in the army. O Lord!... Allah knows the deceit was forced on me. Hassan—may his father perish!—swore to slay my three sons if I refused. We had peace till he came. Now we shall never know peace any more. For our lords of the desert will avenge this outrage. The Circassian pigs will not suffer, for they have no property. But we ... O Lord! Would to God I were dead and in the tomb!”

Shems-ud-dìn replaced the skullcap and turban upon the old man’s head. When the frenzy had somewhat abated, he advised him to seek some neighbor’s house; and watched him shuffle off, leaning upon the arm of the tall maid who hid Leylah’s eyes beneath her veil, and had not said farewell. Then he himself strode frowning in search of Milhem.