 | CHAPTER XXVI. El Fureidîs |  |
26. CHAPTER XXVI.
It had been the intention of our travellers to devote a
few days only to Damaseus; but owing to the allurements of
the city itself, and the urgent hospitality of Mustapha, this
period was first prolonged to a week, and then one week
ripened into two. But the time at length came when the
party unitedly agreed to resist every temptation to further
delay. M. Lapierre was anxious to be restored to his flock.
Meredith had never had enough of the genuine Oriental in
his disposition to be a systematic idler, and the strong moral
purpose which had recently imparted to him newness of life
made him realize more than ever that action must henceforth
be his only rest. With the revival of cheerfulness, M.
Trefoil had also experienced an awakening of the spirit of
enterprise, and he began to comprehend the state of his
affairs, and indulge dreams of retrieving his fortunes. No
surplus funds had been found in the hands of his faithful
consignee; but the generous Mustapha not only encouraged
his friend by advice, but volunteered substantial aid towards
the restoration of the fallen silk-mill, an undertaking concerning
which the manufacturer was now as eager as he
had once been indifferent.
Havilah, petted, worshipped, caressed, began to pine
within the painted walls of Mustapha's house. Her heart
warmed tenderly to the fond, clinging Maysunah; but the
seclusion of the harem, to which they were both condemned
spirits of the mountain girl; the society of her young hostess
failed to satisfy her. For the first time in her life she experienced
the pangs of restlessness and discontent. She believed,
poor child, that she was homesick; she had faith
that the air of Lebanon would work her cure; and thus she
too longed to be gone.
A day for departure was therefore positively fixed upon,
and schemes of recreation and professed idleness gave place
to urgent preparation for travel.
It was matter of surprise to Meredith and the other gentlemen
of the party that Abdoul had absented himself from
their presence, and had not once been seen since their arrival
in Damascus. It was true, that he had only engaged
to conduct them thither, and might have inferred, from his
abrupt dismission, that his attendance was no longer desired.
On the other hand, it was not impossible that he had, in
pursuance of a national instinct, gone to seek his tribe in
the desert, been detained beyond his calculations, and might
yet return in season to conduct the equally dilatory travellers
on their return route, which was to be by the way of
Baalbec and the famed cedars of Lebanon.
Meredith, who was accustomed to the youth's services,
indulged the hope that this might prove the case, and forbore
securing any other dragoman, in the faith that the boy
would, in some characteristic manner, appear at the last
moment.
Havilah, had she been consulted, might have somewhat
enlightened Meredith in respect to his servant's haunts and
occupations, for she had her suspicions, amounting finally
to a conviction, that Abdoul had lingered in Damascus or its
vicinity during nearly their entire stay,—that he had made
himself master of their movements, dogged their footsteps, and
believed, in another she was confident, that, when passing
through the Arab quarter of the city, she had caught
sight of the boy, among a group of ragged Bedouins,
himself shabbily clad and wearing the constrained and
cringing aspect which always marks his race when in the
atmosphere of a city. There was nothing external to distinguish
him from his companions; but the keen, scrutinizing
gaze which he bent upon each individual of the party
that included Havilah betrayed him instantly to one who
could not be mistaken as to the expression of that piercing
eye.
In one solitary instance, when she was privileged to ride
with her father and Meredith through the fragrant gardens
of the environs, her pleasure in the excursion was marred
by the consciousness that they were followed and watched
by a mounted Bedouin, who finally shot past them with the
speed of an arrow, and was recognized by Havilah in spite
of the ample kefiyeh which purposely hid his face.
And once again. It was night, and Havilah, seated beside
Meredith, was leaning over the rail of the garden kiosk,
watching the shadows of the trees reflected in the stream.
The position of both was accidental, they having been deserted
by the other members of the household, who, early in the
evening, had formed a group in that corner of the pavilion,
but had now retreated to its inner recesses, M. Trefoil to
doze over his pipe, and Maysunah and her father to listen
uninterruptedly to some simple explanations of Christian
truth from the lips of M. Lapierre. So Meredith and Havilah
were left to each other's society; an opportunity which
they could not be said to improve, since scarcely a word had
been exchanged between them. Neither was an object of
envy, for both were sad. A little while ago, and Meredith
speedy return thither,—speaking not with the enthusiasm
of the home-bound traveller, but the brave determination
of a man going forth to his labor. Nor was this fortitude
forced or stoical. Work was no longer a mere escape
from self,—it had its inspiration and its ardor; and unconsciously,
as he alluded to the long-neglected cares of
home, he spoke with the manly self-devotion of one who,
having turned his back on happiness, began to see something
attractive in the rugged face of duty.
He began to see, but the light in his soul was newly lit.
It illumined the first steps of his way, but no more. It
gave him courage to set forward, but the distant future was
still a dreary blank, and still his soul was sad.
His conversation had been addressed to the elder members
of the company. Havilah had been only a listener.
It was the first intimation she had received of his plans;
and now, as she sat watching the flickering shadows, she
half forgot that he was by her side. She too had gone
out into the future, and in imagination she was following
him over sea and land. The scope of her own little life
seemed suddenly narrowed, her own heart seemed not large
enough for her to live in. She could not endure to think
of El Fureidîs. She feared she should be homesick even
in Lebanon. She yearned for something, she knew not
what,—a home, perhaps, in the stars.
She was roused from her reveric by the dipping of oars
within a few feet of the spot where she sat, and immediately
there skimmed past a flat-bottomed boat manned by
thin, wiry, white-cloaked Bedouins. It came and was gone
in an instant,—a weird, ghost-like craft; but as it darted
along the edge of the kiosk, a dark face at the bows
peered for an instant between the net-work of vines that
a malicious but gratified curiosity overspread the face of
Abdoul, as he reviewed every feature of the scene within.
She glanced at Meredith, but his eyes were fixed on a
little cloud passing over the moon; he had not changed his
position, he evidently had not observed the boy; and on
this, as on previous similar occasions, Havilah maintained
her composure, and, though indignant and alarmed, prudently
kept her own counsel. The event, however, gave a
new current to her thoughts, and for the remainder of the
evening she could not wholly banish from her mind the undefined
fears excited by the temper and behavior of the
youth, who seemed to her at once a friend and an enemy.
She shrank from confiding her suspicious doubts to any one,
but secretly hoped that Abdoul would remain in Damascus,
and another escort be secured for the homeward journey.
But with her knowledge of his vicinity, and the familiarity
he had acquired with the movements of her party,
she was the least astonished of the household, when, on the
very day preceding that appointed for departure, Abdoul
presented himself within the courts of Mustapha, and solicited
an interview with his master, M. Trefoil, and Father
Lapierre.
That the Ishmaelite should appear thus opportunely
might pass for one of the accidents or coincidences of a
lawless and vagrant life; but coming as he did, it was difficult
to recognize in him the outlaw or the vagabond, for it
was not as a menial or a hireling that Abdoul now craved
an audience, but as an ambassador and a prince.
Only in an Eastern land could one accustomed to wait
and to serve assume with any degree of plausibility the airs
of an equal and a lordling; but the Oriental, of whatever
grade, is a born nobleman in all that pertains to the exterior
greedy of gain, and eager for hire, knew how, when occasion
served, to bear himself as the son of a chieftain and the
heir of a boundless realm.
It is true he came attended only by the same rude members
of his tribe who had lately been enlisted with him in
Meredith's service, and a single veteran Arab, who was a
more recent delegate from the tents of Zanadeen; but Abdoul
had now assumed a dress corresponding to the rank he
emulated; the soiled and ragged habiliments of his companions
had been either superseded or overlaid by some
attempts at display and finery, and the superb beard and
stately deportment of “mine uncle,” which was the title
Abdoul bestowed on his elder associate, served as a sufficient
guaranty of the latter's state and respectability.
Formal and tedious were the introductions and salaams
with which Abdoul thought proper to preface his communication
and postpone the actual object of his visit. But the
solemnity and importance of his embassy being thus attested,
he at length opened his commission with characteristic grace
and brevity. “Zanadeen, sheik of the mighty Anezys,
Prince of the tribe of the Kahtanide, sends greeting and
salutation to thee, O father of the snowy beard, and to thee,
O skilful weaver of silk, and to thee, O most excellent
Frank,” said the young courtier, gravely making obeisance
to each individual as he addressed him in his turn. “Northeast
of the Pearl of cities, between Kuryetein and Tadmor
in the wilderness, the sheik has pitched his house of hair.
Around him, on every side, the dwellings of his people dot
the plain. Spring smiles on the desert, the cattle find pasture,
the Bedouin rejoices in the bounty of Allah. The
great heart of Zanadeen yearns to welcome the stranger,
and to call him brother and friend. The swift-winged messenger
ye sojourn now in Damascus. By the mouth of yon gray-bearded
man, mine uncle, the sheik sends answer back. O
listen to his words: `Say thus to the worthy people who
journey from Damascus to Baalbec: Zanadeen, chief of the
Anezys, prays you to depart from the straight line of travel,
and honor the Arab tents with your presence. Mounted on
the swift camel, the desert track can be crossed between sun
and sun. The escort and the caravan shall be the care of
Zanadeen. The best animals of the tribe already await you
at Jerûd, one day's journey from Damascus. The soft-paced
dromedary will be proud to bear hither so fair a burden as
thy daughter, O most excellent Trefoil. The women of our
harem will welcome her with joy, though her beauty put
theirs to shame. Our wives and our daughters, our sons
and our warriors, will vie with each other to show hospitality
to you all. The journey may be to you the loss of a few
days. It will add joyful years to the life of Zanadeen.
With anxiety the chief awaits your answer. May it be
favorable to the hopes he cherishes. Such are the words of
Zanadeen.”'
As Abdoul finished speaking; he crossed his arms on his
breast, and, with the dignified air of a royal diplomatist
whose communication is ended, stood awaiting the reply to
his proposals.
The manner, no less than the subject of his mission, imparted
to it a grave character, and seemed to demand a direct
and decisive answer. There was a moment's silence among
his audience, then an interchange of glances, then a low-voiced
conference. Arguments were adduced in favor of
and adverse to the proposition, but the former preponderated.
It was unanimously decided that, although the détour into
the desert would prolong the homeward journey, the prospect
escort to Baalbec, and the pleasure of gratifying the sheik
and his son, were satisfactory compensations for the delay.
Both M. Lapierre and Meredith were desirous that the
decision should be referred to Havilah, but M. Trefoil unhesitatingly
took it upon himself to answer for her in the
affirmative. M. Lapierre was therefore deputed to signify,
in the name of his party, their acceptance of Zanadeen's
proffered hospitality, an office which the courteous old man
executed with a punctilious deference to ceremony which
served to enhance the dramatic effect of the interview.
In the name of his father, himself, and his tribe, Abdoul
acknowledged the compliment involved in this favorable
decision by an hyperbole of thanks. The details of departure
on the morrow were conducted in a similar strain of
mutual deference, and the youth and his companions finally
took their leave, retreating backward to the door, and accompanying
the act with profound and repeated reverences,
their demeanor from first to last constituting a scene which
would in any other land have been a complete burlesque of
courtesy, but which here among those habituated to Eastern
manners gave no occasion even for a smile.
It was not until the next morning that any opportunity
occurred of acquainting Havilah with the new programme
of adventure which awaited her; and even then her father
mentioned it with a carelessness which showed how little
importance he attached to the change of route. He was
not a little disconcerted, therefore, at the look of blank disappointment,
and even dread, which overspread her face at
the announcement, and at the sudden remonstrance which
escaped her. “Not wish to visit the father of your old
playmate?” he exclaimed in dismay, for he had believed
she would be attracted by the novelty of the excursion.
the desert! fear the exposure to the sun! That is not
like my adventurous girl. I never had a doubt but you
would be charmed with it all. But,” continued the man,
zealous in kindliness and fertile in resources, “you shall be
suited as well as we, my daughter. We are pledged to go,
but you shall stay in Damascus. We will take the trip
without you into the desert, and return hither before continuing
to Baalbec. That is the best plan after all. Meredith
will consent, so will Father Lapierre. They were
anxious you should be consulted, but I was an obstinate old
fool.”
M. Trefoil thought he had hit upon a satisfactory expedient;
but if Havilah had instinctively shrunk from his previous
scheme, she was vehement in resisting this. On no
account would she be separated from him and his friends.
Not a word of it to Mustapha, not a hint to Maysunah,
she besought of him with earnest entreaty. They would
insist upon her remaining; she was bent now on the desert
journey. Her father was puzzled, but coaxed into a state of
satisfied bewilderment, and brought to declare, patting her
on the cheek, that he could not comprehend such as inconsistent
little woman, who neither wished to go nor to be left
behind; but that she should have her way, if she could find
out what it was. And, fearful now of being left in Damascus,
Havilah no longer suffered her way to be a matter of
question. Her way was the way of her party.
Maysunah was overwhelmed with childish grief at the
parting, her only consolation being in the hope of returning
Havilah's visit before many months. The sick girl's
health was already improving, and, with a view both to
her happiness and her complete restoration, her father had
promised that, before the summer was past, he would bring
her with him to the Lebanon.
“I shall look for you with longing eyes, my white dove,”
said Havilah, as they took a farewell embrace within the
inner court. “Come quickly, and stay long; I shall yearn
for your sweet company; I shall be alone, all alone;”—
and Havilah burst into tears.
Maysunah had been weeping for hours, but she dried her
own tears to wipe away those of her friend, and felt herself
grow and expand in the thought that she was destined to
fill a void in Havilah's heart, little dreaming, simple child,
that Havilah was already weeping less for her than at the
presentiment of a loss which all Maysunah's love would be
powerless to repair.
But no tears were on Havilah's face, no hesitation in her
step or air, when, bidding adieu to the hospitable roof of
Mustapha, she mounted her horse amid an assembled retinue.
If she had fears, she silenced them. She looked
around her with apparent confidence, sat erect in her saddle
with the proud air of one who defies danger, waved her
hand gracefully to her host, and smiled kindly upon Abdoul.
The boy's handsome face glowed and his heart swelled with
vain rapture as he returned the salutation of his queen, and,
springing upon his white mare, realized that he was no
longer a servant, but the leader of the well-accounted procession
which was setting forth on the route of the Palmyra
caravans.
| CHAPTER XXVI. El Fureidîs | |