This time Yusuf retreated, not as usual in anger, but as if the bare idea he had broached was too terrible to be dwelt upon.  He had by the end of a fortnight completed all his business at El Arnieh, and Arthur, having by this time picked up enough of the language to make himself comprehensible, and to know fully what was set before him, was called upon to make his decision, so that either he might be admitted by regular ritual into the Moslem faith, and adopted by the sheyk, or else be advertised by Yusuf at the next town as a strong young slave.

Sitting in the gate among the village magnates, like an elder of old, Sheyk Abou Ben Zegri, with considerable grace and dignity, set the choice before the Son of the Sea in most affectionate terms, asking of him to become the child of his old age, and to heal the breach left by the swords of the robbers of the mountains.

The old man’s fine dark eyes filled with tears, and there was a pathos in his noble manner that made Arthur greatly grieved to disappoint him, and sorry not to have sufficient knowledge of the language to qualify more graciously the resolute reply he had so often rehearsed to himself, expressing his hearty thanks, but declaring that nothing could induce him to forsake the religion of his fathers.

’Wilt thou remain a dog of an unbeliever, and receive the treatment of dogs?’

‘I must,’ said Arthur.

‘The youth is a goodly youth,’ said the sheyk; ’it is ill that his heart is blind.  Once again, young man, Issa Ben Mariam and slavery, or Mohammed and freedom?’

‘I cannot deny my Lord Christ.’

There was a pause.  Arthur stood upright, with lips compressed, hands clasped together, while the sheyk and his companions seemed struck by his courage and high spirit.  Then one of them—­a small, ugly fellow, who had some pretensions to be considered the sheyk’s next heir—­cried, ‘Out on the infidel dog!’ and set the example of throwing a handful of dust at him.  The crowd who watched around were not slow to follow the example, and Arthur thought he was actually being stoned; but the missiles were for the most part not harmful, only disgusting, blinding, and confusing.  There was a tremendous hubbub of vituperation, and he was at last actually stunned by a blow, waking to find himself alone, and with hands and feet bound, in a dirty little shed appropriated to camels.  Should he ever be allowed to see poor little Ulysse again, or to speak to Yusuf, in whom lay their only faint hope of redemption?  He was helpless, and the boy was at the mercy of the Moors.  Was he utterly forsaken?

It was growing late in the day, and he had had no food for many hours.  Was he to be neglected and starved?  At last he heard steps approaching, and the door was opened by the man who had led the assault on him, who addressed him as ‘Son of an old ass—­dog of a slave,’ bade him stand up and show his height, at the same time cutting the cords that bound him.  It was an additional pang that it was to Yusuf that he was thus to exhibit himself, no doubt in order that the merchant should carry a description of him to some likely purchaser.  He could not comprehend the words that passed, but it was very bitter to be handled like a horse at a fair—­doubly so that he, a Hope of Burnside, should thus be treated by Partan Jeannie’s son.