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His Excellency sat in the guest chamber of the sheykh’s house, flushed with triumph, the Circassians praising God around him. He was in the course of dictating a report of the affair to the Greek, his secretary, when Shems-ud-dìn stood in the midst and cried shame on him. For one minute he seemed startled. The next he turned his eyes toward the vaulted roof, crying:

“Allah witness, it is a child—a little child!”

“Now I know why thou wast loath to have me journey with thee. And I confess here, before all these men, that I did wrong not to be ruled by thee then, that I did wrong in cleaving to thee. For great grief is come upon me. My brother, once the best of men, has sinned most heinously, and I am witness of his crime.”

“Said I not he was a saint?” said Hassan triumphantly, from somewhere in the background.

Milhem frowned, stroking his close beard, then smiled indulgently.

“What dost thou know of statecraft? Go, O my brother! and when thou art recovered I will speak with thee,” he said, with some compassion and much dignity.