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The clangor filled the air suddenly, starting many echoes. But Shems-ud-dìn did not turn his head. He continued sitting with his back to the world, spreading out his hands over the brazier, which he had lighted for an illusion of comfort. He heard the ponderous, padded tread of camels; he smelt their hides; and one by one, in passing, the huge beasts took the daylight from him. The jangle of the bells was deafening.

All at once it ceased. The train had halted. But Shems-ud-dìn did not turn his head.

“O Allah, weld my will to Thine! O Lord, spare my daughter!” he kept moaning.

“For how much dost thou sell this, O effendi?” said a husky voice behind him.

Turning then, in some dismay, Shems-ud-dìn beheld a man unkempt and meanly clad, grinning sheepishly as he held up a tiny bottle of attar of roses. It was evidently one of the camel drivers, for he held the end of a rope wound round his wrist; and the small, superb face of a camel looked over his head into the shop, sneering at what it saw there.