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Launched upon a favorite theme, he continued in this strain of deep affection a great while.

Milhem answered not a word. Profoundly moved, he plucked up the grass near him by the roots, snuffling to keep from tears. At last, able to bear it no longer, he rose abruptly and took his leave with broken words of blessing and praise to God. Not until his boat danced midway across the path of darkening water, and the minarets of the sovereign city, aloft in the sunset, seemed spears of a phantom host uplifted, threatening, did he remember his purpose in the visit.

On the morrow, before noon, he found his way to the street of sweet odors, where Shems-ud-dìn had a shop which it was his custom to visit on that day of each week for the purpose of taking account with his steward. This morning Shems-ud-dìn was not alone. Two old men sat with him in the inner gloom, beyond where a group of women chaffered with the salesman. They were sheykhs renowned through all the world for their learning and piety, stern foes to innovation, for whom a time-serving official was an unclean beast.