WEARY AND THIRSTY.
THE same glimmer of dawn which had aroused the Bedouins from their
bivouac while stars still shone in the dark blue sky, awoke Robin, as
he lay stretched on his bed of sand, near the lifeless form of his
friend. The sun would rise ere long, the fierce, cruel sun, the last
that he was ever likely to see; but the young Knight of St. John had a
duty to perform before he should perish of thirst. He must hollow out
a grave after death for her whom in life he had been bound to protect.
After a brief prayer, the lad—with no implement but his hands—set to
his toilsome but hallowed task. Though his tongue was cleaving to the
roof of his mouth with thirst, for the mashale was utterly dry, Robin
scraped and scraped, with patient toil, for it was a labour of love.
"God give me strength to finish my work!" faintly murmured young
Hartley. "And then I shall die content."
But the strength was failing before the grave was half completed; Robin
was almost fainting, and scarcely conscious of anything save that he
was to dig and die, when he was startled by a long shadow falling over
the uncompleted grave, a shadow between him and the sun, which was
rising behind his back, for young Hartley's face was turned to the west.
Robin raised his head, and saw with surprise that he was not alone; at
a little distance was what might almost be called a caravan, consisting
both of laden camels and mounted horsemen, well-dressed, and carrying
spears. Close beside Robin was one whose tread had been unheard on the
sand. The Persian Amir, for such was the stranger, had dismounted from
his Arab steed; and, throwing the bridle to a gaily attired attendant,
had approached on foot to see who, in that solitary desert, could be
engaged in digging a grave.
Robin Hartley could never forget the impression made on his mind by the
tall dignified Oriental who had so unexpectedly made his appearance in
so very desolate a spot. Anywhere, and under any circumstances, Amir
Ali was a man to attract notice. He was almost as fair as a European,
with a high nose, rather hooked, and long lustrous dark eyes, fine,
but with something gloomy and unpleasing in their expression. The
well-marked but delicately pencilled eyebrows were a little drawn
together as if in a slight, habitual frown; and the thin lips looked as
if they could utter cynical things.
[Illustration: Robin raised his head, and saw with surprise that he was
not alone.]
A high cap added to the Persian's appearance of lofty stature. His
dress was rich, but of less gaudy colours than Persians usually affect,
and a silver-hilted sword, a sign of rank, hung by the Amir's side.
To Robin's surprise, he was addressed in his own tongue, which the
stranger spoke with tolerable correctness, though slowly and with
Oriental accent.
"You are an Englishman," said the Amir; "how came you hither?" The
voice of Ali was low and rich.
Robin rose to his feet to reply. "I and my party were seized by
Bedouins yesterday," he said. "She," glancing at the body, "fell ill,
so was left behind."
"And you?"
"Of course I stayed to help her."
"A mother has claims," said Ali in a low tone of voice; "no doubt the
lady is your mother?"
Robin shook his head in reply.
"Then a near relation?"
"No; a few weeks ago I did not know that there was such a being in the
world."
"What, then, was the tie which made you willing to throw away life for
her sake?"
"Christian love," replied Robin faintly. "Oh, sir, if you have any
mercy, give me a draught of water, and bid your people finish this
grave."
"Hassan, give orders at once," said the Amir, turning towards a
Persian, lower in stature than himself, but almost as handsomely
dressed. "Bid the slaves bring sherbet, fruit, and other refreshment,
this gentleman has evidently not wetted his lips for many hours."
Robin did not understand the language in which these directions were
given, but he soon benefited by their effect. He seemed to draw in new
life with the cool, copious, delicious draught, proffered to him in a
silver goblet. While he partook of food, some of the Amir's slaves with
ease completed what had been to the weary youth an almost hopeless task.
Robin, after reverentially raising to his lips the cold hand of the
corpse, and then laying a white handkerchief over the lady's sweet
face, was able, unaided by Mahomedan hands, to place Mrs. Evendale's
slight form in its shallow grave. The youth was loath to leave the
spot, now to him sacred, without even a prayer or a text from Holy
Writ. Robin therefore repeated in English a few verses from that
glorious chapter which tells the Christian of victory over death, and
the hope of a bright resurrection. Clasping his hands, the English lad
thanked God that his dear friend's soul had been called to bliss, and
that the precious seed now sown in weakness would rise to eternal life.
Then Robin, rising from his knees, left others to fill up the grave,
and slowly turned away.
"You are not like other European Christians,—I have seen many," said
Ali in the English tongue. "They are a selfish race; they speak of a
religion of love, but you are the first one whom I have ever met with
who would risk starvation for the sake of any one merely for being of a
kindred faith."
"It was my simple duty," said Robin Hartley; "and it was an honour
too," he added, for he felt, and the feeling brought inexpressible
pleasure, that he had been permitted to minister to an angel. With less
of sadness than of thankfulness Robin looked again on the nameless
grave of Grace Evendale. "I should have liked to have made some mark,"
he said, half aloud; "but God knows where she sleeps; she will awake
when the Lord cometh again."
"Are you sure of that?" asked Ali, dryly.
"Quite sure," was Robin's simple reply.
"We must go on our way," said the Amir; "for the sun has power, and
we have far to ride. Hassan, bid the sais (groom) bring my fleet
Firdosi." The order was instantly obeyed, and a beautiful horse, richly
caparisoned, was led to the spot.
"He is of the true Nejdean breed," said Ali to Robin; "swift as the
antelope, gentle as the lamb." Ali sprang into the saddle, then,
turning towards Hassan, said, "Give the Feringhee (European) your black
horse; you can ride on the dromedary yonder."
Hassan turned on the interloper, as he deemed Robin to be, such a look
of malice and hatred, that young Hartley intuitively felt that he had
an enemy in that man.
Robin had not had much experience in riding, but he delighted in the
exercise, and was only too glad to mount a spirited horse, instead of
resuming his place on the back of a camel. With another parting look at
the grave, which would soon be undistinguishable in the waste, Robin
rode away from the spot, Amir Ali on his beautiful steed at his side.
"Where are we going?" asked Robin of Ali.
"I am bound for Wyh on the sea-coast," was the reply. "I have been to
Medina, and am tired of Arabia."
"I suppose that you have made a pilgrimage to Mahomet's tomb," observed
Robin. There was no profound reverence expressed in the Amir's face at
the name of his prophet.
"I went there as I went to Bagdad, Egypt, Syria, India, as I shall
perhaps one day go to England, in order to—" Ali paused abruptly.
Robin, who was naturally rather talkative, filled up the uncompleted
sentence,—"to amuse yourself, I suppose."
"To get away from myself," was the bitter reply. "English boy, have you
never known what it is to wish to do so?"
"Never," said Robin Hartley.
"Have you ever found anything really worth living for?" asked the
cynical Persian.
"Much worth living for—and dying for too," replied the young Knight of
St. John.
The two rode for a short time in silence; we need not inquire into
Ali's subjects of thought, Robin's mind was full of his brother.
"Oh, sir," he suddenly exclaimed, "I owe life itself to your kindness,
and now I dare entreat you to bestow on me much more. I would be more
grateful to you than words can tell, if you would help me to find my
brother."
"Where may he be?" asked Ali.
"In the hands of the Bedouin Arabs. He and I, and others, were seized
at the same time. The rest of the party went on, I know not whither,
when I stayed behind. Oh, is there no means of tracking and overtaking
the band?" There was intense earnestness expressed in Robin's pleading
look and tone.
"I should have thought that you had had enough of these marauding
Bedouins," observed Ali. "Few meet with them with pleasure, or part
from them without bloodshed. Are you so fond of danger, young man?"
"I care not for it—if I can only find Harold!" cried Robin.
"Is he so dear to you, then?" said the Persian.
"Surely—is he not my brother?" was Robin's reply.
Something came over the handsome face of the Persian which reminded
Robin, he knew not why, of a thunder-cloud darkening the sun. The youth
had evidently unwittingly touched some painful chord.
He changed the conversation.
"Is he whom you call Hassan any relative of yours?" asked the English
lad.
Ali silently shook his head.
"Probably your friend?" suggested Robin.
"I have no friend," was the stern reply. "Hassan has been my companion,
my shadow, for two or three years. Do not you trust him, boy, for he is
not to be trusted."
"Then why keep him with you?" asked the incautious Robin. He wished the
unguarded words unspoken; it had brought another cloud to the face of
his benefactor. "I am always blundering," thought the youth.
Again the Amir and his English companion rode on in silence.
"What a strange comrade God has sent me!" thought Robin. "This handsome
fellow is clearly unhappy in his mind; he must be walking in darkness.
Lord! Help me to give some light!"
Presently Ali broke into conversation again, for he hated the company
of his own thoughts.
"Are you one of those who think that all things are ordered by Divine
wisdom?" asked the Amir, not with the manner of one who holds such
doctrine himself, but rather with that of a free-thinker who considers
no one religion better than another.
"Of course I am," was Robin's reply, "for I am a Christian."
"Christian. Oh! That's what all your countrymen call themselves," said
Ali, with a touch of scorn in his manner. "I've seen a good deal of
them in India, where I stayed ten months; I've read their books, even
seen worship in their mosques—their churches I mean. I allow that your
Prophet Isa (Jesus) was a wonderful moral teacher, though His followers
seem to make a habit of disobeying His precepts."
"The Lord was much more than a prophet. God's Book tells us that He
is the Word of Life. Oh, I wish that my brother were here! He could
explain, and I cannot."
"You can answer plain questions," said Ali. "I do not want you to
discourse like a moulvie. You can tell me if there was either wisdom or
mercy in God's leaving you to die in the desert."
"I think that God had wise and kind purposes," answered Robin, after a
minute's reflection.
"What might they be?" asked Ali.
"A good, sweet lady wanted some one to give her a last draught of
water."
"But God abandoned her to a horrible death."
"Oh, no, not horrible!" cried Robin, with animation. "I mean to comfort
her relatives by telling them that it was as if a bridge had been made
of a rainbow, and the Lord whom she loved had gently carried her across
in His arms."
"I never saw any one die in that way," said Ali, half incredulously.
"Can your ingenuity discover any other advantage ensuing from your
misfortune?"
"Without it, I should not have met you," said Robin.
The vanity of the Persian was gratified. "And how do you regard me?" he
inquired.
"As my preserver," was the reply.
"Anything besides?" asked the Amir, who had been fed on flattery from
his childhood.
"Yes, but I do not wish to tell you my thoughts; you might not like
them," said Robin.
"But you must and shall tell them!" cried the Amir, in the tone of
one accustomed to command. Robin was to him so different from any
one with whom he had ever met before, that the Persian regarded the
English youth with curiosity as well as interest. "After so brief an
acquaintance what am I in your eyes?" continued Ali.
"I think that, in one way, you are something like what I was before you
found me."
"You speak in riddles; explain your meaning," said Ali.
"You are weary and very thirsty, and you know of no water near," Robin
spoke slowly; he did not wish to offend. "And I know of a spring—an
abundant spring—a Fountain of Life; perhaps God sent you to me that I
might tell you where to find it."
"Your comparison is not flattering," said the proud Persian,
contracting his brows. "Boy! Do you presume to think me an object of
pity?"
Robin could only answer "Yes," for he thought, "No one is more to be
pitied than the man who tries to run away from himself."
Young Hartley expected the angry Amir to bid him instantly dismount,
but Ali only urged on his own horse as if impatient to reach the next
encampment.
That simple "yes" had startled the Persian more than any eloquence
could have done. "Is it possible," he said to himself, "that this
friendless, helpless, hopeless outcast can afford to look down with
compassion on me? Is this boy a prophet that he can read at a glance
secret misery hidden in the depths of a stranger's heart!"
Robin, in the Amir's company, travelled far more comfortably than he
had done with the Shararat Bedouin Arabs. Persians know something of
cookery, and indulge in the luxury of tea; while Arabs prefer the
delicious coffee which their country supplies. Robin could choose
between the two refreshing beverages. His need of change of garments
was supplied by the generous Persian, and Robin, arrayed in an Oriental
costume, was far more picturesquely attired than he had ever been
before.
But every kindness shown to the kafir (infidel), as Hassan called the
Christian, was as gall and wormwood to the soul of the Amir's "shadow."
Everything given to the stranger seemed to this man as if taken from
himself, and the wily Persian hated the frank Englishman with a deadly
hatred. Hassan had picked up some English in India, though not nearly
as much as the Amir had done, and he used it as a weapon of annoyance
to Robin, who found it hard to keep his temper when thus offered
gratuitous provocation.
Hassan, not contented with insulting one who had done him no wrong,
used his utmost skill to poison the mind of the Amir against his
English companion. But here the clear, crystal-like transparency of
Robin's character proved his defence; much might be thrown on it by
malice, but malice itself could not make it stick. Ali could not help
trusting the English youth who said out frankly and fearlessly whatever
he thought.
And often did Ali ponder over the words which had made him angry when
they were uttered: "You are weary and very thirsty, and you know of no
water near; perhaps God sent you to me that I might tell you where to
find it."