University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Amid the novelty and excitement of his journey, and
the various creeds and nations of which it had presented
specimens, Meredith had well-nigh forgotten that it was
the evening of the Christian Sabbath.

This recollection was brought to his mind by the familiar
sound of bells; but his consciousness of the fact became
more vivid, as, descending the mountain slope, and drawing
near the little highland village, he was struck with the
deep and solemn quiet which pervaded the place.

Even the flat roofs of the dwellings, where Eastern
households invariably congregate at night, were all deserted.
There was no sound to be heard in court-yard or garden,
save here and there the musical plashing of a fountain,
the distinctly heard play of whose waters rendered the
surrounding stillness more impressive.

“They are in yonder church at the evening worship,”
said Abdoul, replying to the silent interrogation expressed
in Meredith's countenance; and, without waiting the word
of command, he led the way to the village sanctuary.

It was a building of simple, but graceful architecture,
perched upon a high projecting platform, and its stone
roof and tower of pale yellow limestone gleamed brightly
in the moonlight, shedding a glow over the cluster of
mountain homes of which it might be termed the crown.

Both travellers alighted at its threshold, and Abdoul,

followed by Meredith, entered noiselessly at the door, which
stood invitingly open.

Marvellous and touching was the scene which here presented
itself. An unwonted awe crept over the heart of
Meredith as he gazed and listened, and Abdoul involuntarily
assumed an air of respectful attention.

The chief feature in this strange congregation was the
figure of an old man, whose hoary locks fell to his shoulders,
and whose long, black garments swept the floor of the little
platform on which he knelt and prayed. Around him
were grouped a crowd of worshippers, whose motley attire,
no less than their numerous shades of complexion and varied
cast of features, proclaimed them the children of many
a different lineage and nation.

Side by side on the marble pavement the Greek and
Armenian, the Turk and the native Syrian, offered up a
like petition to the common Father of them all; each head
bowed and each knee bent in the same reverent posture,
while they listened to the words of one who, in the simplicity
of the Christian faith, preached to them the truth
as it is in Jesus.

Like the Apostles of old, the aged man seemed to possess
the gift of tongues, for his simple offering of prayer
and praise was first spoken in English, and then repeated
in both Turkish and Arabic, that all might intelligently
join in the earnest and devout petition. Not an eye was
lifted, not a head raised, until the conclusion of the short
but solemn appeal to the throne of grace, and then every
voice united in the fervent “Amen!” after which the
whole multitude rose and awaited the continuation of the
service.

As the noise which accompanied this simultaneous movement
died away, a few soft notes of sweet and sacred music

stole upon the ear, and the strain gradually swelled in
sound and volume until at length the air rang with the
rich and vibrating notes of an organ played by skilful
fingers. Observing the direction of Abdoul's eager gaze,
and the straining of his figure to its utmost height, Meredith
availed himself of his own superior stature to peer above
the heads of the assembly in the quarter whence the
music proceeded; and, although the light which the church
afforded was dim and indistinct, his eye at once detected
the rapt and youthful organist. She was a young girl
of not more than seventeen years, and of a grace and
beauty which, combined with her dress, her attitude, and,
above all, the nature of her occupation, imparted to her
an air of almost seraphic loveliness.

She wore a tight-fitting Grecian bodice of white Damascus
silk, interwoven with silver, a full flowing skirt of snowy
whiteness, and a long veil of the same material thrown over
her black hair, after the fashion of the Syrian maidens.

Lost in self-forgetfulness, with her head slightly thrown
back and her dark eyes raised, she seemed to be invoking
the inspiration to which her fingers gave utterance as they
moved slowly over the keys of the instrument. At length,
her prelude being finished, she paused, cast her eye upon a
group of youthful choristers who stood near, and, gathering
voice for the effort, struck the first note of a solemn litany,
in which they all joined, keeping time to the voice of their
leader and to the accompaniment of the organ.

Sweetly and religiously did the words of the anthem flow
from their tuneful lips, and the multitude, in ruder but no
less earnest accents, took up the chorus.

As the last notes of the hymn died away, the young organist
rose, and with folded hands and downcast eyes awaited
the moment when the venerable servant of God should pronounce
a blessing upon the assembly.

A solemn silence pervaded the sanctuary while the good
man commended each and all to the mercy and protection
of their Maker.

Meredith's poetic and imaginative mind, however, realized
the beauty more fully than the sacredness of the occasion.
His scholarly and artistic nature, more attuned to classical
than to religious emotion, failed to recognize in the scene the
felt presence of Him who “hath his foundation in the holy
mountains.”

He saw only a temple reared with hands, and a venerable
priest uttering oracular words of wisdom, while, if his heart
bowed down in homage, it was to the matchless loveliness
of one whom he was ready to liken to the sacred
priestess dwelling within the veil. As the congregation filed
through the narrow portal at which Meredith and Abdoul
had stationed themselves, the former had ample opportunity
to scrutinize the incongruous assemblage.

The athletic Maronite, richly and gayly attired, with
broad, flat turban and scarlet vest, strode away with a

confident bearing, while his fair and comely wife bent her
head as she emerged from the door-way whose height
scarcely afforded space for her tall tantour;[1] the self-absorbed
and dignified Turk passed on without looking to
right or left; and here and there a stern Druse, with his
hand on his heavy scimitar, folded his mantle over his
bronzed visage and came stealthily out amidst the crowd.

Meredith lingered to the last, hoping to catch sight of
the dark-haired maiden, and Abdoul, whatever might be his
motive, stepped within the shadow of a projecting angle of
the tower, and braced his slight figure against the wall.
The company of worshippers had scattered in different
directions, preserving all the while a becoming degree of
gravity and decorum, and Meredith began to suspect that
the object of his thoughts had left the building by some
private door-way, when the sound of a sweet girlish voice
fell upon his ear in accents of the purest Greek tongue,
and the next moment the beautiful organist made her appearance,
leaning on the arm of the gray-haired patriarch
of the valley, and followed by a young attendant in
Turkish costume, who carried in her hand a curious little
paper lantern. The eyes of the maiden were fixed in affectionate
reverence on the face of her aged companion, and
she passed Meredith without observing him, though the
shadow of his figure lay directly across her path. As she
descended the steps, however, the breeze swayed the delicate
lantern of her attendant, and its light fell full on the
face of Abdoul, who, as if anxious for concealment, had
crouched against the wall.

The girl gave a quick start of surprise as she recognized
the lithe figure and handsome, swarthy face of the Arab,
and, withdrawing her arm from that of the pastor, she advanced
a step towards him, exclaiming, “Abdoul!”

The youth, finding himself thus unexpectedly discovered,
straightened his figure to its full height, and, pressing his
fingers to his forehead, lips, and heart, after the manner of
the graceful and dignified salutation of Eastern lands, bowed
low before her, uttering her name, “Havilah!”

The tone of his voice, as he spoke that single word, betokened
the deepest admiration and reverence; and as he
lifted his piercing eyes to her soft and liquid orbs, his face
became suffused with an expression of dove-like sweetness,
which imparted to it a strange and picturesque beauty.

“You have returned without loss of time,” said Havilah,
smiling kindly upon the youth.

“The Khádhere[2] loiters not on the road which brings
her master hither,” replied Abdoul.

“Abdoul loves El Fureidis,” said Havilah. “Father Lapierre,”
and she took in hers the hand of the hitherto unobservant
old man, who was gazing up at the stars, “it is
Abdoul; he has returned from Beyrout.”

The aged missionary looked down, recognized the youth,
and, laying a hand on his shoulder, exclaimed fervently,
“God bless you, my son; you are welcome!”

“Come with us, Abdoul,” said Havilah; “my father's house
is your home in El Fureidis.”

“Not so,” replied Abdoul. “I have guided hither a
stranger from among the Franks; I must provide him
shelter.”

“Bring him to me,” said Father Lapierre; “my house,
Abdoul, is the resting-place of the stranger.”

“None knows that better than Abdoul,” answered the
youth, reverently lifting the old man's hand to his lips.
Then turning to Havilah, he said, “And the healing mother,
Ianthe, is she well?”

A shade passed over the girl's bright features as she answered,
“She complains not, but her step is slow, and her
cheek paler than ever.”

“Has Lebanon no blessed herb,” said the youth,—his expressive
features full of anxiety,—“that can give comfort
to the comforter?”

“There is a balm in Gilead, Abdoul,” said Father lapierre,
fervently, “and in it Ianthe has steeped her soul;—
the rest she leaves to God.”

“Allah preserve her!” exclaimed the boy, devoutly.

“We shall see you to-morrow, Abdoul,” said Havilah, as
she made a motion to proceed on her way.

“And my home, in the mean time, shall furnish shelter
and refreshment to yourself and the traveller,” added Father
Lapierre.

“Your hospitality is well timed,” replied Abdoul. “We
will come thither to-night.”

The next moment the old man and the two maidens disappeared
down a steep flight of steps cut in the rock; and
Meredith and Abdoul, mounting their horses, proceeded by
a more circuitous route in the direction of Father Lapierre's
humble dwelling.