Agreeably to Arab custom, Khadijah rose with the early dawn, and having seen that her daughters and her two slave-girls were busied in their respective morning tasks, she called Hassan into the inner tent in order to give him the information which he had been awaiting through a sleepless night of anxiety; but as the good woman accompanied her tale with many irrelevant digressions, it will be more brief and intelligible if we relate its substance in a narrative form.
A little more than fifteen years previous to the opening of our tale, Khadijah, with her husband and a score of his followers, had been paying a visit to a friendly tribe camped in the neighbourhood of Sakkarah.[6]
On returning northward, through the district of Ghizeh, near the Great Pyramid, her child was born, who only survived a few days. It was buried in the desert, and as her health had suffered from the shock, Sheik Sâleh remained a short time in the neighbourhood, to allow her to recruit her strength.
One evening she had strolled from his tent, and after wailing and weeping a while over the grave of her little one, she went on and sat down on the projecting base-stone of the Great Pyramid. While gazing on the domes and minarets of the “Mother of the world,”[7] gilded by the rays of a setting sun, her ears caught the sound of a horseman approaching at full speed. So rapid was his progress that ere she had time to move he was at her side.
“Bedouin woman,” he said to her, in a hurried and agitated voice, “are you a mother?”
“I am,” she replied. “At least, I have been.”
“El-hamdu-lillah, praise be to God,” said the horseman. Dismounting, he drew from under his cloak a parcel wrapped in a shawl and placed it gently beside her at the base of the pyramid, then vaulting on his horse, dashed his spurs into its flank, and disappeared with the same reckless speed that had marked his approach.
The astonished Khadijah was still following with her eye his retreating figure when a faint cry caught her ear. What mother’s ear was ever deaf to that sound? Hastily withdrawing the shawl, she found beneath it an infant whose features and dress indicated a parentage of the higher class. Around his neck was an amulet of a strange and antique fashion; round his body was a sash, in the folds of which was secured a purse containing forty Venetian sequins, and attached to the purse was a strip of parchment, on which was written the following sentence from the traditions of the Prophet, “Blessed be he that gives protection to the foundling.”
Hassan, who had been listening with “bated breath” to Khadijah’s narrative, and who had discovered as easily as the reader that he was himself the “Child of the Pyramid,” suddenly asked her—
“Was that horseman my father?”
“I know not,” she replied, “for we have never seen or heard of him since that day. Nevertheless, I think it must have been your father, for I could see that, just before springing on his horse to depart, he turned and gave such a look on the shawl-wrapper that——”
“What kind of look was it?” said Hassan hastily, interrupting her.
“I cannot describe it,” said Khadijah. “It might be love, it might be sorrow; but my heart told me it was the look of a father.”
“What was the horseman like?” said Hassan.
“I had not time nor opportunity to examine closely either his features or his dress,” replied Khadijah; “and were he to come into the tent now I should not know him again. But he seemed a tall, large man, and I guessed him to be a Mameluke.”
Khadijah’s narrative had deeply interested and agitated Hassan’s feelings. As he left the tent and emerged into the open air, he mentally exclaimed, “Sheik Sâleh is not my father; but Allah be praised that I am not the son of a fellah.[8] Unknown father, if thou art still on earth, I will find and embrace thee.”
During the whole of that day he continued silent and thoughtful. He cared not to touch food, and towards evening he strolled beyond the borders of the encampment, lost in conjecture on his mysterious birth and parentage. Ambition began to stir in his breast, and visions of horsetails[9] and diamond-hilted swords floated before his eyes. While engaged in these day-dreams of fancy, he had unconsciously seated himself on a small mound near where Temimah, the eldest daughter of the Sheik, was tending some goats, which she was about to drive back to the tents. With the noiseless step and playful movement of a kitten, she stole gently behind him, and covering his eyes with her hands, said, “Whose prisoner are you now?”
“Temimah’s,” replied the youth; “what does she desire of her captive?”
“Tell me,” said the girl, seating herself beside him, “why is my brother sad and silent to-day; has anything happened?”
“Much has happened,” replied Hassan, with a grave and abstracted air.
“Come now, my brother,” said Temimah, “this is unkind; what is this secret that you keep from your sister?”
“One which will cause me to leave you,” answered Hassan, still in the same musing tone.
“Leave us!” she exclaimed. “Where to go, and when to return? Do not speak these unkind words. You know how our father loves you—how we all love you. Brother, why do you talk of leaving us?” While thus speaking, Temimah threw her arms round his neck and kissed his eyes, while tears stood in her own.
Touched by her affection and her sorrow, Hassan replied in a gentler tone—
“Temimah, I have no father, no mother, no sister here.” He then told her the story of his infancy, as related by her mother, showing that he could claim no relationship in blood to the Sheik Sâleh and his family. As he continued his narrative, poor Temimah’s heart swelled with contending emotions. She learned that the playmate and companion of her childhood, the brother of whom she was so proud, and to whom she looked for support in all her trials, and whom she loved she knew not how much, was a stranger to her in blood. A new and painful consciousness awoke within her. Under the influence of this undefined sensation, her arm dropped from Hassan’s neck, but her hand remained clasped in his, and on it fell her tears hot and fast, while she sobbed violently.
Temimah was more than a year younger than Hassan, yet her heart whispered to her secret things, arising from the late disclosure, which were unknown to his. Although the idea of parting from her gave him pain, he could still caress her, call her sister, and bid her not to grieve for a separation which might be temporary, while she felt that henceforth she was divided by an impassable gulf from the brother of her childhood.
Slowly they returned to the encampment, and Temimah took the earliest opportunity of retiring into her tent to talk with her own sad heart in solitude.
Did she love him less since she learnt that he was not her brother? Did she love him more? These were the questions which the poor girl asked herself with trembling and with tears; her fluttering heart gave her no reply.
After these events it is not to be wondered at if Hassan permitted but a few days to elapse ere he presented himself before Sheik Sâleh, and expressed his wish to leave the tents of the Oulâd-Ali, in order to seek for his unknown parents: the Sheik being prepared for this request, and having made up his mind to acquiesce in it, offered but a faint opposition, notwithstanding his unwillingness to part with one whom he had so long considered and loved as a son.
“By Allah!” said he to the youth, “if destiny has written it, so it must be. My advice is, then, that you go to Alexandria, where I have a friend who, although a merchant and living in a town, has a good heart, and will be kind to you for my sake. I will write to him, and he will find you some employment. While you are with him you can make inquiry about the history and the families of the residents, Beys, Mamelukes, &c., and learn if any of them were at Cairo sixteen years ago. If your search there is without success, you will find means to go to Cairo and other parts of Egypt, and, Inshallah! the wish of your heart will be fulfilled.”
Hassan thanked his foster-father, who forthwith desired a scribe to be called to write from his dictation the required letter, which bore the address, “To my esteemed and honoured friend, Hadji Ismael, merchant in Alexandria.”
The simple preparations requisite for Hassan’s departure were soon made, and all the articles found upon him when he had been left at the foot of the pyramid, and which had been carefully preserved by Khadijah, were made over to him, and secured within the folds of his girdle and his turban; a horse of the Sheik’s was placed at his disposal, and he was to be accompanied by two of the tribe, charged with the purchase of coffee, sugar, and sundry articles of dress.
When the day fixed for his departure arrived, his foster-parents embraced him tenderly, and the Sheik said to him, “Remember, Hassan, if ever you wish to return, my tent is your home, and you will find in me a father.”
Temimah, foolish girl, did not appear; she said she was not well; but she sent him her farewell and her prayers for his safety through her little sister, who kissed him, crying bitterly. Thus did Hassan take leave of the tents of the Oulâd-Ali, and enter on the wide world in search of a father who had apparently little claim on his affection; but youth is hopeful against hope, so Hassan journeyed onward without accident, until he reached Alexandria, where his two companions went about their respective commissions, and he proceeded to deliver his letter to Hadji Ismael, the merchant.