MEETINGS AND GREETINGS.
ROBIN'S painful reflections were broken in upon by a medley of confused
noises, first faintly heard in the distance, then coming nearer and
nearer, until the whole air was filled with the beating of drums, the
harsh sounds of Oriental music, the tramp of horses, the crack of guns
fired off in sport, and the uproar of many voices breaking the silence
of night.
Surprised at such sounds in the desert, Robin hastened outside the
tent, and saw a cavalcade advancing towards the encampment, bearing
many torches, which made darkness almost as clear as day. There was a
string of camels, the foremost gay with trappings of scarlet, bearing
aloft shrouded forms on which the eye of man must not gaze; the animals
were connected with each other by a long rope passed through their
nostrils, and were led by drivers who, with long switches in their
hands, walked beside their camels. Robin admired the picturesque
appearance of the bridal procession, for such it was, which had just
accomplished the first stage of the journey from the city of Djauf.
Little did the English youth guess who they were who travelled in that
gay cavalcade.
Ali's party, already encamped by the wells, were by no means inclined
to give place to the newly arrived, though much more numerous than
themselves. There was great probability of a noisy dispute at least
between the camel-drivers, which might end in strife and bloodshed.
Scarcely had the head of the procession reached the encamping ground,
ere the retainers of the respective noblemen began to engage in noisy
wrangling regarding the place nearest to the wells.
Robin went forward to see what was going on. The youth had not gone
many steps when he suddenly stopped short with an exclamation, his
whole soul in his eyes,—looking like a man who beholds an apparition.
Before him, in the yellow torch-light, stood Harold Hartley, clad in
snowy Oriental garments, looking even more startled than himself, for
Harold recognised in the form before him, dressed in Persian costume,
the brother for whose supposed death he had so bitterly mourned! The
pause was a very brief one, each of the Hartleys uttered the name of
the other, and then the brothers were locked in such an embrace as
might be given to a beloved one newly raised from the dead.
Entirely absorbed in the delight of the meeting, neither of the
Hartleys even heard the shrill voice of Lammikin calling down from a
camel's height, "Oh! There is Robin at last!"
"How is this, Harold? How came you here?" exclaimed Robin, drawing
back a step to look in delighted wonder on his brother, so strangely
transformed.
"I am a slave; no free Englishman," was Harold's reply.
"But not another hour shall you remain in slavery!" exclaimed his
brother, and Robin darted away to find Ali, whom he met with the joyful
exclamation, "He is found! Harold is found!"
"'Where is he?" asked the Persian Amir.
"Here, close by; you will buy him, you will free him," was the excited
reply. "Or let me be a slave in his place!"
"I can neither buy nor free your brother without the consent of his
master," said Ali, who foresaw difficulties which had not occurred
to the eager Robin. "I promise to do what I can, but I cannot ensure
success. Present my salaams, the Amir Ali's salaams to your lord," said
the Persian in a tone of command to one of the bridal train.
"My lord is yonder; he has just dismounted," said the retainer, with
difficulty making his reply heard above the noises around.
Ali strides towards the indicated spot, and approaches the splendidly
attired bridegroom, whose back is turned towards him; but who turns
round suddenly to confront the stranger? Why do the Amir's knees
tremble, why does his face assume so ghastly a hue? Is it joy or terror
that is stamped on a countenance usually so stoically calm? Faiz ul Din
stands before him. Has the grave given up the dead?
The recognition is mutual; it is no recognition of fraternal love. With
fierce countenance and hand on sword hilt, the Persian bridegroom faces
the man who once stabbed him. Very different indeed is the meeting
between the Oriental brothers from that between the Hartleys.
There was the silence of surprise; but not for long. Ali looked upon
one whom he had wronged, one whose blood he had shed, one to whom
reparation should be made and vengeance offered. The Amir drew his
dagger, held its hilt towards his brother, and bared his own breast.
"Faiz ul Din! Strike if thou wilt; I resist not!" he said.
Faiz ul Din haughtily waved his hand. "We strike not the unresisting,"
he said. "I take no revenge; for our mother's dying charge was that I
should pardon thee, O Ali, as she had done."
[Illustration: With fierce countenance, and hand on sword hilt, the
Persian bridegroom faces the man who once stabbed him.]
"My mother dead!" exclaimed the Amir.
All's evident grief, intensified by remorse, did more than anything
else to soften the resentment felt by Faiz ul Din, who, whatever he
might be as a brother, was an affectionate son. For their mother's
sake, he was willing to pass a sponge over the past, and make his own
bridal festivities an excuse for even welcoming the presence of his
only brother.
At command of Faiz ul Din, a magnificent tent was pitched, and the
camel-drivers stopped their noisy disputes at the thought of the coming
feast, of which all would partake together. Preparing the banquet was
now the order of the night as regarded those without the tent, while
within it, the Persian Amirs sat down to smoke their narghillahs and
partake together of a repast. Robin pressed into the tent; he could
let nothing make Ali forget his promise concerning Harold. The Persian
was reminded of it by Robin's anxious pleading face before a word was
spoken, and turned towards his own newly found brother.
"It is strange, O Faiz ul Din," said Ali, "that I should have at
once to ask a favour of him whom I have wronged; yet so it is, for I
am bound by a promise. This Feringhee," the Persian glanced towards
Robin as he spoke, "has saved my life, and I have vowed to deliver his
brother from bonds. That brother is one of your slaves, but he cannot
have been so for long. Will you exchange him for my favourite steed, a
pure Nejdean, the fleetest and finest to be found in Arabia?"
"My slave?" said Faiz ul Din. "Oh, yes, I remember, the handsome white
one whom I received yesterday as a gift from my father-in-law, with
a little Feringhee child. Take them both, my brother," continued the
generous Persian; "I require neither them nor thy steed."
Ali translated the gracious words to Robin, after expressing his sense
of his brother's kindness by pressing his hand on his own heart.
Robin overjoyed, darted off to bear the good tidings to Harold.
Faiz ul Din then inquired of Ali why he had deemed him dead, and had
taken no means to ascertain whether the blow were fatal or not.
"It is not every stroke that slays," he observed.
"It was Hassan who told me that thy wound was mortal, and that our
mother had vowed never to forgive him who had caused thy death."
"The lying slave!" exclaimed Faiz ul Din. "Brother, thou hast asked one
favour of me, grant me one in return: Give that villain the bastinado."
"He is beyond our reach," replied Ali, and he pointed significantly to
the ground.
"One villain the less on earth," was Faiz ul Din's phlegmatic remark.
The Persian brothers did not remain long together, or their renewed
union might not have lasted long. Faiz ul Din showed neither surprise
nor regret when Ali informed him that he himself was going for a second
time to India, where he was likely to remain long, perhaps to the end
of his life. Faiz ul Din looked upon Ali rather as a rival, than as his
nearest living relative. The younger brother was willing that the elder
one should go wherever he listed, so that he returned not to Persia.
It was not convenient that the two caravans should encamp at the same
spot, as renewed quarrels between the retainers would be almost certain
to ensue. Faiz ul Din was secretly glad when Ali gave orders to his
followers to renew their march, though from courtesy, he remonstrated
against such a speedy departure. The Amir was not now going towards
Djauf, but to the south-west, towards the Red Sea, the wants of his
party being supplied by the generosity of Faiz ul Din. The course of
the two Persian brothers would be in different directions, and their
paths were never likely to cross each other again.
Yet, brief as their meeting had been, it had removed a great burden
from the mind of the elder; and it was with something like affection
that Ali gave to Faiz ul Din a parting embrace. Firdosi remained behind
as a fraternal gift.
"How wondrously has my way been marked out for me," said Ali to Robin,
as soon as the parting was over. "Had I not met you, I should never
have embraced the religion of Christ. Had you not urged me to go to
Djauf to release your brother, I should never have known that my own
still breathed; I should have gone to my grave with the stain of blood
on my soul."
"Not so," replied Robin; "you would have learned the safety of Faiz
ul Din when you arrived in Persia. Do you not now rejoice that you
had resolved on making a painful sacrifice in obedience to God. Like
Abraham you were spared the sacrifice after you had surrendered your
own will and were ready to obey a difficult command, let obedience cost
what it might."
"Now let me exchange words with your Harold," said Ali; "he looks a
brother to be proud of, but—" the jealous nature would assert itself
still—"he must not divide you from me."
"No!" exclaimed Robin warmly. "You will but have two brothers instead
of one. Harold owes to your kindness his freedom, as I owe to your
mercy my life. Harold, come here!" cried Robin. "This brave Persian has
delivered us both!"
"And you, my young brother, have brought me to Christ!" cried Ali.
"Are you a Christian?" exclaimed Harold with joyful surprise.
"I was an unbeliever—an outcast—a hopeless wanderer in darkness,"
replied Ali, "till my English brother showed me that God is love and
God is light, and that in light and love His likeness is borne by His
servants even on earth."
Ali mounted a horse and rode on, but Robin declined riding the steed
which, by the Amir's command, was brought to him by an attendant.
"Oh, Harold, let us walk together, and talk over all that has happened;
one can't converse comfortably when one is in the saddle and the other
on the back of a camel!" exclaimed Robin, locking his arm in that of
his brother. "It is so delightful to march under the light of the
stars; and I am so happy that I feel as if, with you at my side, I
could walk on for ever!"
"We will march on a little apart from the rest," said Harold, who fully
shared Robin's enjoyment, though he was less vehement in its expression.
"We cannot lose the caravan, even if no light were carried," observed
Robin; "for though the camels' tread makes no sound, the horses and men
give out enough noise to guide us, even though the night were darker.
There is Lammikin up yonder, singing a song in her own honour; but I
miss Miss Petty's familiar voice, which one usually heard first of all."
"Poor Miss Petty's voice will never be heard again!" said Harold. "Her
form lies under Arabian sand."
"Like that of our saintly friend!" exclaimed Robin, who had already
told Harold of Mrs. Evendale's peaceful departure. "Poor Miss Petty!"
he added with genuine pity. "I never thought of her being taken so
soon. I wish that I had shown her more kindness whilst she was with us!"
"And I wish that I had been less remiss in speaking to her as
a minister of the Gospel ought to speak," said Harold, with
self-reproach. "It is strange how we often most neglect those with
whom we are brought into most constant contact; it is far easier to
preach a stirring sermon to hundreds than closely to apply its lessons
to one. Perhaps in nothing more than in our familiar intercourse with
common acquaintances shall we, upon our death-beds, have cause to cry,
like Bishop Usher, 'Lord, forgive me my sins, specially my sins of
omission!'"
"And now I have a confession to make to you, Harold," said Robin. "I
do not know what you will think of my conduct, but I'll make a clean
breast at once, as befits a Knight of St. John. If we had not, most
happily, met with Faiz ul Din in this desert, what think you that I had
bound myself in honour to do?"
"I'm dull at guessing riddles," replied Harold. "I cannot imagine what
you had to do with Faiz ul Din, before you had even set eyes upon him."
"Ali thought that he had killed his brother in a quarrel some years
ago," said Robin, "and my poor friend had not the courage to go back to
Persia, face his mother's anger, and ask her forgiveness. I urged him
to go—I thought that it was his duty to do so. Did I do right, Harold,
in pressing this point?"
"As far as you have told me the circumstances, I should think that you
did right," replied Harold.
"But the Persian could not consent to return to his country unless
I agreed to go with him," said Robin. "So I made a hasty promise
one minute, and repented of it the next. I made All a promise the
fulfilment of which would have separated me from you, from our father,
from the work in which I long to engage. What can you think of me,
Harold?"
"I think that you acted very much like—like Robin Hartley," replied
Harold smiling, but it was too dark for the smile to be seen.
"That is to say, a foolish, thoughtless fellow, who will grow grey
before he learns to grow wise! You should have had a more sensible
brother."
"I'm very well contented with my lot, dear old boy!" laughed Harold;
and he thought to himself, "I would not exchange my honest true-hearted
Robin for any other brother in the world!"