What he has heard abroad and what he suspects, are shadowed forth in his friendly counsel. Let Khalid reflect upon it.
Our Scribe, at least, is persuaded that Sheikh Taleb spoke as a friend. And he, too, suspects that something is brewing abroad. He would have Khalid hearken, therefore, to the Sheikh.
But Khalid in silence ponders the matter. And at table, even Mrs. Gotfry can not induce him to speak.
She has just returned from the bazaar; she could hardly make her way through the choked arcade leading to the Mosque; the crowd is immense and tumultuous; and a company of the Dragoons is gone forth to open the way and maintain order. “But I don’t think they are going to succeed,” she added.
Silently, impassively, Khalid hears this. And after going through the second course, eating as if he were dreaming, he gets up and leaves the table. Mrs. Gotfry, somewhat concerned, orders her last course, takes her thimble-full of coffee at a gulp, and, leaving likewise, hurries upstairs and calls Khalid, who was pacing up and down the hall, into her room.
“What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing, nothing,” murmured Khalid absentmindedly.
“That’s not true. Everything belies your words. Why, your actions, your expression, your silence oppresses me. I know what is disturbing you. And I would prevail upon you, if I could, to give up this afternoon’s business.
Don’t go; don’t speak. I have a premonition that things are not going to end well.
Why, even my dragoman says that the Mohammedan mob is intent upon some evil business. Be advised. And since you are going to break with