“After a while it will pray for him.  Then Satan the stoned, whom may God confound, will depart from him,” said Achmet.

“But in the meantime I must see him, immediately.”

“He goes to-morrow.  That is why he is afflicted to-day,” said The Jinnee.  “I think, hanoum, he would go without seeing you again.  It is a grievous thing to say to one’s beloved, ‘I leave you.’  I have said it.  I was young then.  I am old now, but I have not forgotten.”

I unfastened the chain from my neck.  A half-coin swung from it as a pendant.

“Place this in his hand.  It is a sign.  It has power to lay the evil spirit which troubles this house,” I told him gravely.

He seized upon it with an eager hand.  “In the name of God!” said The Jinnee, and fairly flew out of the room.

A minute later, his violin grasped in one hand, my chain in the other, Nicholas Jelnik appeared.  His appearance shocked me.  The mask was off; here was stark and naked misery.

“Nicholas!” I said, “Nicholas!”

“You should not have come!” he said roughly.  “Why have you come?  I did not want you to see me—­thus.  Is it not enough for me to suffer?” And he made an impatient, imploring gesture.  His lips quivered.

“Put aside the violin, Ariel,” I said.  “But keep the coin.”

He stiffened, as if he braced himself for further blows.  But he laid aside the violin, and with a supreme effort of will got himself in hand.  That early training in self-control worked a miracle now.  Here was no longer the wild, white-lipped musician, but a pale, proud young man who faced me with stately politeness.

“I have another gift for you, Nicholas Jelnik.”  To save my life I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking, my eyes from glittering, my cheeks from flaming.  “Do not go, old Jinnee.  Stay and see what gift I bring the master.”

Then it occurred to me that it would be dangerous should strange or greedy eyes look upon what my sewing-bag hid.  The thought frightened me.”

“You are sure there is none to see?  Achmet, there is no stranger around?”

“We are alone,” said the black man, quietly.  Both of them seemed astonished and concerned.

Reassured, I drew forth the heavy buckskin bag and placed it in Nicholas Jelnik’s hands.

“From Hynds House—­and me—­and oh, Nicholas, from Beautiful Dog, too!” I said, and laughed and cried.

For the moment he didn’t understand.  He thought it some loving woman-foolishness of Sophy’s, some woman-gift she had made for him.  I knew, for he gave me a glance of tenderness.  And then he opened the bag, and staggered like a drunken man, and sank into the nearest chair, trembling like a leaf in the wind.  The Hynds fortune had come back to the last of Richard’s blood.

When the mist cleared from my eyes, I saw old Achmet on the floor, with his hands upraised and tears running down his black cheeks like rain, unashamedly and unaffectedly pouring out praises and thanksgivings to his Creator.