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It was the priest Mîtri. "Or dost thou fear to incur the anger of the English missionaries? By Allah, thou art wrong to fear them. Their religion is of man's devising; its aim is worldly comfort, which will fail them at the Last Day; whereas ours is the faith of Christ and the Holy Apostles, the same for which thy fathers suffered ages before the invention of the Brûtestânt heresy.
Only Abdullah, as a sometime dragoman, kept near the missionary, interrupting his speech with senseless scraps of English, all eagerness to translate for him the words of Mîtri, till the latter stopped him with a curt "Be silent, fool!" And Iskender also hung upon the missionary, waiting an opportunity to inquire for the young Emîr.
It was not long before Iskender received evidence that the question of his change of faith possessed a lively interest for others besides the priest Mîtri and his lovely daughter.
When they emerged, the Frank was thrusting money on the priest, who declined to take it, till Iskender shouted: "It is for the poor." "For the poor, it is well." Mîtri smiled and accepted the offering. Then, with a knowing glance at the son of Yâcûb, he once more vanished into the church, to reappear next minute with the great umbrella.
Repairing thither in the glow of a fine evening, following a rainy day, he was surprised, as he drew near the place, to see his mother talking with Mîtri in the doorway. She was wrapped from head to foot in a great shawl, and seemed in some trepidation, casting frequent glances up and down the road. In so doing she caught sight of Iskender, and raised hands to heaven. She ran to meet him.
Mitri filled his mouth with water from the pail and squirted it out on his hands, took some more in his mouth to wash his face, dried himself with the rag, then parted and smoothed his curly hair with his fingers and went out. A little girl of about ten, with nothing on but a dirty shirt, came towards him. "Good-morning, Uncle Mitri," she said; "you are to come and thrash."
After a short conference apart with him, he was in a position to inform his lord, who, learning the deception put on him, was very angry. His Honour was for leaving the place at once; but Mîtri and the brother of Azîz would not let him depart as if in dudgeon.
Touching his uncle's hand, he stepped out through the open arches and scrambled down over rocks and fallen masonry to the sea-beach, whence he made his way home through the twilight. His mother had heard of his introducing his Emîr to the priest Mîtri, and blamed the folly of it, till she learnt how thereby he had redeemed the great umbrella. Even then she still declared it was a pity.
Iskender moved on, trusting hard in Allah to save his Sunday clothes from base defilement. The priest Mîtri, seated in the shade, was playing an innocent game with two pebbles, which he threw into the air and caught alternately, when Iskender, approaching humbly, wished him a happy day.
In a white rage, the Father of Ice remounted his horse and rode away, disregarding the ironical salute of Mîtri, who stood out before his door, awaiting the arrival of his catechumen. "What didst thou say to the hog to make him snort like that?" was the priest's first question of Iskender; and, when the youth informed him, "By Allah, it was a true word," he chuckled heartily.
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