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“Three months!” ejaculated Shems-ud-dìn, with downcast eyes.

“Yes, certainly thou must journey to El Cûds, if only that the sight of him may refresh thy soul. But tell me, O my dear, what is the right of this story of an angel? Shibli said only that an angel had appeared to thee, and bidden thee take him (Shibli) to El Cûds, for the sake of Alia, somehow.”

“Not so,” said Shems-ud-dìn. “The truth is quite otherwise. Indeed, it is more likely that he who appeared to me was a devil.” Therewith he told the plain story, the Circassians listening with open mouths.

“Ma sh’ Allah! A jinni, very surely,” said Hassan, at the end. “I myself observed something peculiar in his aspect. Not often is so long a train of camels sent forth without money in the hands of the drivers. Yet—believe it, who can!—on three men, having charge of more than fifty camels, we found but half a bishlik, two poor knives, one brass button, and a bottle—a very small bottle—of attar of roses. No doubt, but the man was an afrìt, who spoke with thee. Devils love to attack a saint, just as I would rather kill a big, strong Bedawi than a little weak one, when it comes to avenging their slaughter of my two sons. Yet fear not, O my soul! A man of thy works can laugh at all the jân. I myself will journey with thee, and, while the Frank physician heals thy daughter, I, with Allah’s help, will procure new rifles for my comrades, a great supply being lately come to the garrison there.”