CHAPTER XVII.

ON AGAIN.

"THERE is reality in the religion of Christians, and there is one—if there be but one—whose faith is something woven into the very fibre of his life—not a mere golden fringe to adorn it."

Such were the reflections of Ali the Persian, as he silently gazed down on the group. "I can understand the English boy's loving his brother, though in a way which to me has a touch of a mystery in it; I can less understand the motives which made him suffer much, and risk more, for a comparative stranger; but the extraordinary impulse to requite evil with good, to give drink to a man who, sought his life, this cannot belong to earth. It is like the very reflection of His character, of whom the Christians say that God is Love. If such be the servant, what must the Master be?"

Robin was unable to rise from the spot where he had knelt. The poor lad's brain was reeling, the earth beneath him seemed to be sinking, and the skies above him whirling round. Robin was raised in an almost unconscious state, and, by Ali's command, placed before him on his noble horse.

The cavalcade moved slowly back till it reached the late place of encampment, happily near. Here the unwilling camels, laden with the tents and the baggage, were only preparing for a start. Glad were all the party to secure a few hours repose.

Ali made the best arrangements that circumstances permitted for his English friend, when the journey should be resumed. He gave orders that one of the large panniers which hung on either side of the smoothest-paced dromedary should be emptied of its contents, save of some dry fodder, which would make a couch of comparative softness. It was but a rude sick-bed indeed, but the best that could be hastily provided. It was evident that Robin, who had high fever, was unable to ride a horse. To linger longer than was absolutely necessary to rest the animals, might be death to all, for not even water was abundant, and there were no means at hand of replenishing the lessening stock of provisions, which had been provided for a journey less prolonged. Scarcely any new supply could be counted on during the long pilgrimage to Djauf.

But the Amir's mind was perplexed by the doubt whether Djauf beyond the desert, or the nearer Wyh on the sea-coast should be the goal of his travels. There was nothing to take him to the Arabian city except a hasty promise made to an English youth who might be now in a dying state.

One of Ali's dependents, approaching him with respect, inquired whether his chief would not return to his former intentions, and quit the land of Arabia, suggesting cogent reasons for taking that course, and glancing significantly at Robin, who lay stretched on a carpet.

"All depends on his state," replied Ali, looking in the same direction; "if he survive, I go to Djauf, if he die, I turn to the sea-coast and quit this hateful land for ever."

Robin knew nothing of what had been spoken, but as clearer consciousness came to his mind, so remembrance returned of what a few hours before had been uppermost in his thoughts.

"Harold—shall we not find him?" murmured Robin like one in a dream. Then opening his languid eyes, Robin fixed them on the Amir and faintly said, "You will take me to Djauf, to my brother?"

"If you can reach it," said Ali.

Robin noticed the slight emphasis on the "if," and the tone which suggested a doubt.

"You think me dying?" said he.

"No, you'll struggle through," replied the Persian; "no one dies at the first touch of fever." But he spoke like one who would soothe a frightened child.

"Were I to die, would you go on to Djauf?" asked Robin, who had no fear of death for himself, but a great fear of Harold's being left in the hands of the Bedouin Arabs.

A few days before, Ali would have uttered an unhesitating lie, but he had difficulty in speaking a falsehood to one so transparently truthful as Robin. "It would be better for us all to turn our faces towards Wyh," he replied.

Robin understood the words as a negative answer to his question. "I do not believe that I shall die!" he exclaimed with animation. "I will pray to God—all is in His hands—if it be His will, I shall yet see my brother on earth. But if the Lord calls me home, if I do not behold Harold—till we meet in heaven, oh! Say that you will not forget my last—my dying entreaty; that you should seek out my brother—and set him free!"

Ali could not resist the appeal, he could not turn away from that imploring look; he remembered that he owed his life to the youth who had suffered in consequence of rescuing him.

"What are your Highness's commands?" asked the Persian attendant.

"That we take the northern route," was the reply.

Robin was lifted into his strange vehicle; the kneeling camel arose, and the journey was recommenced by moonlight.

We will not follow the caravan in its various stages of progress: that progress was necessarily slow, for every animal was tired, and a constant watch had to be kept in case of another attack by roving Bedouins, whilst water had to be carefully husbanded, and provisions meted out. Robin was the only one of the party who knew not how scanty was the supply of both; Ali never suffered his young companion to endure actual privation. The sick lad, suspended in his curious cradle, "like a bird in a nest," as he playfully said, bore the journey much better than anyone had expected, for the pace of the trained dromedary is far smoother than that of the camel. At each halting-place the invalid was lifted down and placed under the shelter of the tent or in the open air, according to the time of the day. Robin had a fine vigorous constitution which successfully struggled to throw off fever, and the wound in his arm healed rapidly.

[Illustration: With some of his old agility the English boy sprang from the pannier, which rested on the ground.]

At the periods of rest, the young Englishman saw much of the Persian who, smoking his narghillah, or occasionally reciting stanzas of Oriental verse, indulged in what the Italians call the dolce far niente, yet without appearing to enjoy it, for Ali took actual pleasure in nothing. If anything roused him to interest, it was hearing passages of Scripture repeated by Robin; but Ali seldom commented upon them.

At last the halting-place nearest to Djauf was reached by the travellers, and there they had the satisfaction of meeting with merchants who readily exchanged fruit, sherbet, and other much needed supplies for the silver pieces of the Persian.

"We shall be in Djauf to-morrow," said Ali; as he came, as usual, to superintend the lifting down of the invalid. But Robin, who was in joyous spirits, would suffer no one to help him; with something of his old agility, the English boy sprang from the pannier, which, from the crouching position of the dromedary, rested upon the ground. Ali held out his hand to aid Robin, who grasped the hand with grateful affection.

"You have been very, very good to me!" he exclaimed. "I will never forget your kindness. I have found you a friend indeed!"

That warm grasp, that grateful look, those few words uttered from the heart, were to the cold embittered spirit of the Persian, like spring's warm breath on frost. Ali felt that he had not only found one whom it was possible to trust and even to love, but one who could return kindness with disinterested gratitude, and love with unfeigned affection. Ali had been accustomed to flattery, eye-service, ready proffers of assistance, and profuse assurances of devotion, but to him the English boy's look, words, and grasp were worth more than them all.

"Would that I could keep him always beside me," thought Ali; "what a contrast he is to what Hassan was! The one a black shadow, the other a sunbeam!"