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SAOBATH LlBHAiiv, Vol. 10, No 295. Published Oct I, 1807.

[Entered at the Post Office at Elgin, 111 , as Second Class Mail Matter]

-iA

C./

r /c J S/,000 PRIZE STORY.

TUS: A COMRADE OF THE CROSS.

Ly FLORENCE M. KLXGSLEY.

Ipublisbcre' Hnnounccment:

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book, desirinjr to recure t'y inps. The larj^jest liberty was given as to plot, it

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IV •!:';T <>,■'« V'"''"'"'''

6u ' idea CU>x.K,^h ^M^.^^<juuJC<i ^ )

The Days of Mohammed.

•*>i; f

By ANNA MAY WILSON

' ^ "-jb vS'ifi «-r-'-'l 1;:feii -ir

' ' David C. Cook Publishing Company, Elgin, 111., and 36 Washington St., Chicago.

^'irr'r''- 'ih:i>:i- -iii^/llo i-sWi'Ji -^

PREFACE.

. ' ( ; ■ 1 !

In " The Days of Mohammed," oue aim of
the author has been to bring out the fact
that it is possible to begin the heaven-life on
earth. It is hoped that a few helpful
thoughts as to the means of attaining this
life may be exemplified in the career of the
various charuoters depicted.

An attempt has been made, by constant
reference to the best works on Mohammed
and Ai'abia, to render the historical basis
strictly correct. Especial indebtedness is ac-
knowledged to the writings of Irving.
Burton, and the Rev. Geo. Bush; also to ihe
travels of Burckhardt, .Joseph Pitts, Ludo-
vico Bartema and Giovanni Finati, each of
whom undertook a pilgrimage to the cities
of Medina and Mecca; also to the excellent

synopsis of the life and times of Mohammed
as given by Prof. Max MtiUer in the intro-
duction to Palmer's translation of the Koran.
As the tiny pebble cast into the water
sends its circling wavelets to the distant
shore, so this little book is cast forth upon
the world, in the hope that it may exert some
influence in bringing hope and comfort to
some wenry heart, and that, in helping some-
one to attain a clearer conception of Divine
love and companionship, it may, if in never
so insignificant a degree, perhaps help on to
that time when all shall

" Trust the Hand of Light will lead the people,
Till the tliuuders pass, the spectres vanish,
And the Light is Victor, and the darkness
Dawns into the Jubilee of the Agea"

PRECEDING EVENTS -SUMMARY.

Yusuf, a Guebre priest, a man of intensely
religious temperament, and one of those
whose duty it is to keep alive the sacred fire
of the Persian temple, has long sought for a
more heart-satisfying religion than that
afforded to him by the doctrines of his coun-
try. Though a man of kindliest disposition,
yet so benighted he is that, led on by a
deep study of the mysteries of Magian and
Sabffian rites, he has been induced to offer,
in human sacrifice, Imri. the little grand-
daughter of Ama, an aged Persian woman,
and daughter of an Arab. Uzza, who, though
married to a Persian, lives at Oman with
his wife, and knows nothing of the sacrifice
until it is over.

The death of the child, though beneath his
own hand, immediately strikes horror to the
heart of the priest. His whole soul revolts
against the inhumanity of the act, which has
not brought to him or Ama the blessing he
had hoped for, and he rebels against the re-
ligion which has, tliough ever so rarely, per-
mitted ths exercise of such an atrocious rite.
He becomes more than ever dissatisfied with
the vagueness of his belief. He cannot find
the rest which he desires; the Zenda vesta of
Zoroaster can no longer satisfy his heart's
longing; his country-people are sunk in idola-
try, and, instead of worshiping the God of
whom the priests have a vague conception,
persist In bowing down before the symbols
Cook Publishing Company.

»,*««««..«*»«._».^,f.

THE DAYS OF

5 themselves, discerning nnuKlit but the ob-
jects—the sun, moon, stars. Are— light, all in
all.

Yusrf, Indeed, has a clearer idea of God;
but he worships him from afar off, and looks
upon him as a God of wrath and Judgment
lather than as the Fatlier of love and mercy.
In his new spiritual i gltatlon he conceives
the Idea of a cloier rei.ition with the Lord
of the universe; his whole soul calls out for
a vivid realization of God, and he casts
about for light in his trouble.

From a passing stranger, traveling in
Persia— a descendant of those Saba?an Per-
sians who at an early age obtained a footing

MOHAMMED.

in Arabia, and whose Influence was, for a
time, so strongly marked through the whole
district known as tlie Nejd, and even down
into Yemen, Arabia-Felix, — Yusuf has
learned of a new and strange religion held
by the people of the great peninsula. His
whole being calls for relief from the doubts
which harass him. He Is rich and he decides
to proceed at once towards the west and to
search the world, if necessary,— not, as did
Sir (lalahad and the knightr. of King
Arthur's Table, in quest of the Holy Grail,
but in search of the scarcely less efful-
gent radiance of the beams of Truth and
Love. .' '

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

CHAPTER I.

YUSUP BEGINS HIS SEARCH FOR TRUTH.

.; ' • " O when shaU all my wanderings end,
And all my steps to Thee- ward tendl "

EACE, oh peace!
that thy light
wings might now
rest upon me!
Truth, that thou
mightest shine in upon
my soul, making all
light where now is
darkness! Ye spirits
that dwell in yon bright
orbs far above me, ye
that alone are privileged to bow before the
Great Creator of the universe, ye that alone
may address yourselves to the Great Omni-
potent Spirit with impunity, intercede for
me, I beseech you! Bow before that Great
Sovereign of all wisdoau and light, whom we
worship through these vague symbols of Are
and brightness; plead with him before
whom I dare lot come, in my behalf. Be-
seech of him, if he will condescend to notice
his most humble priest, that he may lead
him Into light effulgent, into all truth, and
that he may clear from his soul these vapors

of doubt which now press upon him In black-
est gloom and rack his soul with torment. If
I sin in doubting thus, beseech him to for-
give me and to lead me to a conception of
him as he is. Ye that are his ministers, from
your starry spheres guide me! Whether
through darkness, thorns, or stony ways,
guide me; I shall not falter if I may see the
light at last! Oh. grant me peace!" .' ;;

Thus prayed Yusuf, the Magian priest. He
paused. No sound passed from his lips, but
he still stood with upraised arms, gazing into
the Intense depths (f the Persian sky, pur-
ple, and flecked with golden stars, the " for-
get-me-nots of the angels."

His priestly vestments were dazzlingly
white, and upon his shoulders were fixed
two snowy wings tliat swept downward to
the ground. His black beard descended far
over his breast, and from the eyes above
shone fortli the glow of a soul yearning to-
wards the infinite unknown, whose all is
God.

Behind him, near the altar of the rounded
tower,- round in the similitude of the orbs of
light, the sun, moon, and stars, — danced the
saci-ed fire, whose flames were said to h; e
burned unceasingly for nearly one thousand
years. The fiery wreaths leaped upwards to-
ward the same purple sky. as if pointing
with long, red fingers, In mockery of the

#■

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

priest's devotion* and the ruddy fflnre,
falling upon blm as he stood so still there,
enveloped him with a halo of light. It
gleamed upon his head, upon his uplifted
hands, upon the curves of the wings on his
shoulders, silhouetting him against the dark-
ness, and lighting his white habiliments un-
til, all motionless as he was, he seemed like
a marble statue dazzllngly radiant in the
light of one crimson gleam from a sinking
'sun.

And so he stood, heeding it not, till the
moon rose, soft and full; the mountain-tops
shone with a rim of sil/er, the valleys far
below the temple looked deeper in the shade,
and the ttre burned low.

Rapt and more rapt grew the face of the
priest. Surely the struggle of his soul was
being answered, and in his nearness to Na-
ture, he was getting a fairt, far-off gleam of
the true nature of Nature's God. His glance
fell to the changing landscape below; his
arras were extended as if in benediction; and
his lips moved in a low and passionate fare-
well to his native land. Then he turned.

The fire burned Ioav on the altar.

" Sacred symbol, wliose beams have no
power to warm my chilled heart, I bid you a
long fareAvell! They will say that Yusuf
is faitldess, a false priest. They will may-
hap follow him to slay him. And they will
bow again to yon image, and defile thine
altars again with infants' blood, not discern-
ing the true God. Yet he must be approach-
able. I feel it! I know it! O Great Spirit,
reveal Thyself unto Yusuf! Reveal Thyselt
unto Persia! Great Spirit, guide me!"

For the first time, Yusuf thus addressed a
prayer direct to the Deity, and he did so in
fear and trembling.

A faint gleam shone feebly amid the ashes
of the now blackening altar. It fiared up
for an Instant, then fell, and the sacred fire
of the Guebre temple was dead.

"The embers die!" cried the priest. "Yea,
mockery of the Divine, die In thine ashes!"

He waited no longer, but strode with swift
step down the mountain, and into the shade
of the valley. Reaching, at last, a cave in
the side of a great rock, he entered, and

stripped himself of his priestly garments.
Then, drawing from a recess the garb of an
ordinary traveler, he dressed himself
quickly, rolled his white robes Into a ball,
and plunged farther into the cave. In the
darkness the rusli of falling water warned
him that an abyss was near. Dropping on
his knees, he crei)t carefully forward until
his hand rested on the jagged edge of a ledge
of rock. Reside him the water fell into a
yawning gulf. Darkness darker than black-
est night was about him, and, in its cover, he
cast the robes into the abyss below, then re-
tiaced his way, and plunged once more into
the moonlight, a Persian traveler wearing
the customary loose trousers, a kuflyah on
his head, and bearing a long staff in his
hand.

CHAPTER II.

A BEDOUIN ENCAMPMENT.

" The cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away."

—Longfellow.

ANY months after
the departure of
Yusuf from Persia
a solitary rider on
a swift dromedary
reached tlie ex-
treme northern
boundary of El
Hejaz, the province that stretches over a
considerable portion of western Arabia. His
face was brown like leather from exposure,
and his clothes were worn and travel-
stained, yet It scarcely required a second
glance to recognize the glittering eyes of the
Magian priest.

It seemed as if the excitement of danger
and the long days of toil and privation had
at last bef;un to tell upon his iron frame.
His eye, accustomed by the fear of robbers
to dart its dark glances restlessly, was less
keen llian usual; his head was drooped
downward upon his breast, and his whole at-
titude betokened bodily fatigue. His camel,
too, went less swiftly, and picked its way,

■!»»

i«iW

^^^^

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED,

with low. plaintive ninnns, over the roujjh
and pn'dpitouH path which led Into a wild
and weird Klen.

It was eveninu. and the shadows fell In
fantastic streaks and blotches acrrtss the
arid valley, through whose barren soil huge,
detached rocks of various-colored sandstone
rose In eerie, Irregular masses, veritable
castles of genii of the uncanny si)ot.

Yusuf looked uneasily around, but neither
sight nor sound of life was near, and he
again allowed his faithful beast to slacken
its pace and ci'op a few leaves of the coarse
camel-thorn, tlie only sign of vegetation in
the deserted place.

A few trees, hoAvever. could be seen in the
distance, and he urged his camel towards
them in th<» hope of tinding some water, and
some* dates for food. l{ea<'l»ing the spot, he
found that a stagnant pool lay below, but
there were no dates on the trees, and the
water was brackish. A couple of red-legged
partridges tluttered oft", cackling loudly as
they went. He would fain have had them
for food, but their presence seemed like com-
liauy to the poor wanderer, and he did not
attempt to secure them; so, throwing himself
at full length on the ground, he flung his
arms across his eyes to shield them from the
white glare of the sky.

Suddenly a step sounded near. Yusuf
started to his feet and grasped his scimitar,
but he was instantly beset by half a dozen
wild Arabs, who dashed upon him. scream-
ing their wild Arabian jargon, and Avaviug
their short swords over their heads.

Blows fell thick and fast. Yusuf had a
dazed consciousness of seeing the swarthy,
wrinkled visages and gleaming teeth of his
opponents darting In confusion before him,
of hacking desperately, and of re«"'^iving
blows on the head; then a sudden gush of
blood from a wound on his forehead blinded
him, and he fell.

All seemed over. But a shout sounded
close at hand. Several Arabs, splendidly
mounted on nimble Arabian horses, and
waving their long, tufted spears, appeared
on the scen'\ Thv Bt^louin robbers fled pre-
eipitatelj, and Yusuf's flrst sensation was

that of being gently raised, and of feeling
water from the pool dashed upon his face.

The priest had not been severely wounded,
and soon rec;>vered enough to proceed with
the party which had rendered him such
tlnu'ly aid.

An hour's ride brought them to the head of
another and more fertile glen or wady,
through which a mountain stream wended
its way between two bands of tolerably good
pasturage. A full moon In all Its brilliancy
was just rising. Its cold, clear light floo<led
the wady, bringing out every feature of the
landscape with remarkable distinctness. At
some distance lay a group of tents, black,
and pitched In a circle, as the tents of the
Bedouins usually are. Camp-ttres studded
the valley with glints of red; and the bark-
ing of dogs and shout« of men arose on the
night air above the hoarse moanings of the
camels. Yusuf was indeed glad to see evi-
dences of Arab civilization, and to look for-
ward to the prospect of a good supper and
a friendly bed.

The return of the party was now noticed
by the men of the encampment. A group of
horsemen, also armed with long spears
tufted with ostrich feathers, left the tents
and came riding swiftly and gracefully to-
wards their returning companions.

An explanation of Yusuf's sorrowful plight
Avas given, and he was conducted to the tent
of the Sheikh, which was marked by being
larger than the rest, and situated in the cen-
ter of the circle, with a spear placed upright
in the ground before the door.

The Sheikh himself received the stranger
at the door of his tent. He was a middle-
aged man, of tall and commanding appear-
ance, though the scowl habitual to the
Bedouins by reason of their constant expos-
ure to the sun, rested upon his face. He
wore a kuflyah, or kerchief, of red and yel-
low on his head, the ends falling on his
shoulders behind in a crimson fringe. His
hair was black and greased, and his eyes,
though piercing, were not unkindly. His
person was thin and muscular, but he wore
gracefully the long abba or outer cloak,
white and embroidered, which opened in

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

front, discloslnjr an undrrK'uniit'nt of ttKured

inuHlln. buund by a crl isou Bash. And there

was native grace In every movement when

lie eame courteously forward and saluted

Y u s u f with the

" Peace be with you "

of tlie Arabs. He then

ex1(>nded ids hand to

help tiie traveler to

dismount. and led

him into the tent.

" Friend." he said,
" a lonj? journey and
a close acQUniutance
with death are, rre-
thiiiks, a st)od prepa-
ration for the enjoy-
ment of Bedouin hos-
pitality, which, we
sincerely hope, shall
not be laclcing in the
tents of Musa. Yet,
In truth, It seems to
us that thou art a
fool - hardy man to
tempt the dangers of
El Hejaz single-
handed."

" So it has proved,"
returned the priest;
" but a Persian, no
more than an Arab,
will draw back at the
first scent of danger.
Yet I deplore these
delays, which but
hinder me on my way.
I had hoped long ere
this to be at the end
of my journey."

"We will hear all
this later," returned
the Bedouin with
quiet dignity; "for

the present, suffice It to keep quiet and let us
wash this blood from your hair. Hither, As-
wan! Bring warm water, knave, and let the
traveler know that the Arab's heart is warm
too. Now, friend-stranger, rest upon these
cushions, and taii^ later. If It please you."

With little enough reluctance, Yiisuf lay
down upon the pile of rugs and cuwhinnB,
and. Willie the attendants iiatlied his br w.
looked somewhat curiously about him.

He stood with upraised arms, gazing into the depths of the sky.— See page 2.

By the light of a dim lamp and a torch or
two, he could see that the tent was divided
into two parts, as are all Bedouin tents, by a
central curtain. This curtain was occa-
sionally twitched aside far enough to reveal
a pair of black eyes, and. from the softness

tff- JiOr-r i. jy JSSJ?Bl.i-»**a^.

-*m^rmA

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

of tho voIfPR which Hounded fi*om tiiuo to
timo iM'hInd tin' folds, ho Hurmlsi'd correctly
that tbiH aparuneiU bolouged to the chlef'H
women.

Several men entered the tent, nil swarthy,
lithe and sinewy, with llu' scowling faces
and even, white teeth characteristic of the
typical Arab. They gesticulated constantly
as they talked; but Yusuf. though thoroughly
familiar with the Arabic language, paid little
attention to the ct)nversation, giving hlm«elf
up to what seemed to him, after his adven-
tures, perfect rest.

Presently the chief's wife entered. She
was unveiled, and her features were dis-
tinctly Hebrew; for Lois, wife of the
Bedouin Musa, had been born a Jewess. She
was dressed In a flowing nthe of black con-
fined by a crimson ginlle. Strings of coins
and of blue opaque beads hung upon her
breast and were wound about her ankles,
and she wore a black head-dress also pro-
fusely decorated with beads and bangles of
silver.

On a platter she carried some cakes, still
smoking hot. These she placed on a low,
circular table of copper. A wooden platter
of boiled mutton was next added, along with
a caldron filled with wheat boiled in camel's
milk, and some cups of coffee.

Yusuf was placed at the tab|ie, and Musa,
after sipping a little coffee, handed the cup
to him; the chief then picked out tlie most
savory bits of mutton, and, according to
Arabian etiquette, handed them to his guest.

Several men gathered around to partake of
the banquet. They crouched or reclined on
the ground, about the low table; yet, savage-
looking though they were, not one of the
Bedouins ventured an Inquisitive question or
bestowed a curious glance on the Persian.

Among them, however, was a little,
inquisitive - looking man, whose quick, blrd-
ilke movements attracted Yusuf's attention
early in the evening. His round black
eyes darte 1 into every place and upon every
one with an insatiable curiosity, and he
talketl almost lncess<!antly. He was a Jewish
peddler who traded small wares with the
Arabs, and who was constantly somewhere

on tlie road between Syria and Yemen, being
liable to appear suddenly at the most niys-
terlouH times, and in the most unlikely
places. t

In his way, Abraham of .Toppa was a char-
acter, and oiw n\i\y be pardoned for bestow-
ing more than a pawsing glance upon him.
Tiiough permitted to eat at the table with
the rest, it was evident that the Arabs
lo<*ked upon him wit'.i some contempt. They
enjoyed listening to his storU's, and to his
recital of the news which he picked up In
his travels, but they despised his Inqulsltive-
ness, and resenteil the impertinence with
which he coolly addressed himself even to
the Sheikh, before whom all were more or
less reserved. '

The Persian was, for the present, the chief
ohject of the little Jew's curiosity, and as
soon as the meal was over he hastened to
form his acquaintance. .; ■>

Sitting down before the priest, and poising
his head on one side, he observed:

" You are bound for the south, stranger?"

" Even so," said Yusuf, gravely. t .

"Whither?" ^ .- •; ; f f v

" I seek for the city of the great temple.**

"Phut! The Caaba!" exclaimed the Jew,
with contempt. " Right well I know it, and
a fool's game they make of it, with their run-
ning, and bowing, and kissing a bit of stone
In the wall as though 'twere the dearest
friend on earth!"

"But they worship—" li ' .,'-';' t* i-

" A statue of our father Abraham, and one
of Ishmael, principally. A precious set of
idolaters they all are, to be sure!"

Yusuf's heart sank. Was It only for this
that he had come his long and weary way.
had braved the boat of day and the untold
dangers of night? In searching for that pure
essence, the spiritual, that he craved, had he
left the idolatrous leaven at home only to
come to another form of it in Mecca?

" But then," he thought, " this foolish Jew
knows not whereof he speaks: one with the
empty brain and the loose tongue of this
wanderer has not probed the depths of di-
vine truth."

" You cannot be going to Mecca as a pll-

THE DAVS OF MOHAMMED.

jjrlni?" linznnlod tho little man.

Th«>

MaKi:tiis and the SalaiMinH wui'Hhlp the Htars,
do tlH'y not?"

" Alan, yes!" Hald the priest. *' They have
fallen away from the ancieut belief. They
worshln even tlu' wtarH theMiHelves, and have
Bet np Inia^eK to them, no lonjjor pereelvIiiK
the (Jrei't InvlHJble, the Infinite, who can be
approached only through the mediation of
the spirits who Inhabit the staiTy orbs."

" Methlnks you will And little better In
Mecca. What are you Kolnj; there forV"
asked the Jew abruptly.

" I seek Truth," replied the priest quietly.

"Truth!" rei)eated the Jew. "Aye, aye,
the Persian traveler seeks truth; Abraham,
the Jew, seeks m.vrrh. aloes, sweet perfumes
of Yemen, sllke of India, and purple of Tyre.
Aye. so it Is. and I think Abraham's com-
modity Is the more obtainable and the more
practical of the two. Yet they do say there
are Jews who have sought for truth like-
wise; and they tell of apostles who gave up
their trade and fisheries to go on a like quest
after a leader whom many Jews will not ac-
cept."

" Who were the apostles?"

" Oh, Jews, of course."

"Where may I find them?"

" All dead, well-nigh six hundred years
ago," returned the Jew, Indifferently. ; ■

Yusuf's hopes sank again. He longed for
even one klndretl spirit to whom he could un-
fold the thoughts that harassed him.

" I do not know much about what they
taught," continued the Jew. " Never read it;
It does not help In my business. But I got
a bit of manuscript the other day from
Serglus, an old Nestorlan monk away up In
the Syrian hills. I am taking It down to
Mecca. I just peeped Into It. but did not
read It; because it is the people who live now,
who have gold and sliver for Abraham, that
Interest him, not those who died centuries
ago; and the bit of writing is about such.
However, you seem to be interested that
way, so I will give It to you to read."

So saying, the Jew unpacked a heavy bun-
dle, and, after searching for some time, up-
setting tawdry jewelry, kerchiefs, and boxes

of perfume, ho at last succeeded In finding
the parchmont.

lie han(le<l It to the Persian. " I hope It
may be (»f uh>« to you, stranger. Abraham
the Jew knows little and cares less for re-
ligion, bi»t lie would be sorry tc see you
bowing with yon heathen Arab herd at
Mecca."

" Dog! Son of a dog!" ■

It was MuHu. Able to restrain his passion
no longer, he had sprung to his feet and
stood, with flashing eyes and drawn
scimitar, in resentment of the slur ou his
countrymen.

With a howl of fear, the little Jew sprang
through the door and disappeared In the
darkness.

Musa laughed contemptuously.

" Ha, lack-brained cur!" he said, " I would
not have hurt him, having bniken broad
with hlri In mine own tent! Yet. friend Per-
sian, one cannot hear one's own people, and
one's own temple, the temple of his fathers,
desecrated by the tongue of a lack -brained
Jew trinket-vender."

" You know. then, of this Caaba— of the
God they worship there?" asked the priest.

Musa shook his head, and made a gesture
of denial.

" Musa knows little of such things," he re-
plied. " Yet the Caaba is a name sacred in
Arabian tradition, and as such. It suits me
III to hear It « the tongue of a craven-
hearted Jew. In HJth. the coward knave
has left his trumpc bundle all open as It Is.
I warrant me he \\.il come back for It In
good time."

A dark-haired lad In a striped silk garment
here passed through the tent

" Hither, Kedar!" called the Sheikh. " Re-
cite for our visitor the story of Moses."

The lad at once began the story, reciting it
In a sort of chant, and accompanying his
words with many a gesture. The company
listened breathlessly, now giving vent to
deep groans as the persecution of the chil-
dren of Israel was described, now bowing
their heads in reverence at the revelation of
the burning bush, now waving their arms In
excitement and starting forward with flash-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Ing eyes as the lad pictured the passage of
the Red Sea. .hpi

Yusuf had heard some vague accovnt of
the story before, but, with the passionate na-
ture of the Oriental, he was strangely moved
as he listened to the recital of how that great
God whom he longed to feci and linow had
led the children of Israel through all their
wanderings and sufferings to the promised
land. He felt that he too was indeed a wan-
derer, seeliing the promised land. He was
but an infant in the true things of the Spirit.
Like many another who 'ongs vainly for a
revelation of the worlcing of the Holy Spirit,
his soul seemed to reach out hopelessly.

But who can tell how tenderly the same
All-wise Creator tieasures up every out-
reaching of the struggling soul! Not one
throb of the loving and longing heart is lost;
—and Yusuf was yet, after trial, to rejoice
in the serene fullness of such light as may
fall upon this terrestrial side of death's di-
viding line. ., w« I „,r* V,,.

Poor Yusuf, with all his Persian learning
and wisdom, had, through all his life, linown
only a religion tinctured with idolatry. Al-
most alone he had broken from that idolatry,
and realized the unity of God and his separa-
tion from all connected with such worship;
but he was yet to understand the connection
of God with man, and to taste the fullness of
God's love through Christ. He had not
realized that the finger of God is upon the
life of 3very man who is willing to yield
himself to Divine direction, and that there, is
thus an inseparable link between the Creator
and the creature. He was not able to say.
as said Carlyle in these later days, " A divine
decree or eternal regulation of the universe
there verily is, in regard to every conceiv-
able procedure and affair of man; faithfully
following this, said procedure or affair wil!
prosper. . . Not following this, . . destruc-
tion and wreck are certain for every affaii',"
And what could be better? Divine love, not
divine wraui, over all! Yusuf had an Idea
of divine wrath, but he failed to see— be-
cause the presentation of the never-failing
Fatherhood of God had not yet come— the in-
finite love that makes Jesus all in all to us.

heaven wherever he Is, and hell wherever he
Is not. :^ V.;, «i.

Since leaving Persia, this was the first
definite opix)rtunlty he had had of listening
to Bible truth.

" Kedar knows more of this than his
father," explained Musa. "'Tls his mother
who teaches him. She was a Jewess, of the
people of Jesus of Nazareth, but I fear this
roving life has caused my poor I^ois to for-
get much of the teaching of her people."

" You speak of Jesus of Nazareth I have
heard something of him. Tell me more."

Musa shook his head slowly. " I know
nothing," he said. " But I chall call Lois.
The men have all guue from the tent, and
mayhap she can tell what you want."

So saying, he entered the women's apart-
n»ent, and sent his wife to Yusuf. « '-^^»^

" You wi«h to know of Jesvs of Nazareth?"
she said. " Alas, I am but a poor teacher. I
am unworthy even to speak his name. I
marrleo? when but a child, and since then I
have wandered far from him, for there have
been few to teach me. Yet I know that he
^vas in very truth tho Son of God. He was
all-good. He healed the sick on this earth,
and forgave sin. Then, woe, woe to me!— he
was cruc'fled, — crucified by my people! And
he went up to heaven; his disciples saw him
go up in the white clouds of a bright day."

" Wherft dwells he now? Is he one of the
spirits of the stars?" .^^^ ^^,,'^,^

" I know not. He is In heaven."

" And does he stoop to take notice of us,
the children of earth?" t^^K ^ » -^ (

'* Alas, I know not! There was once a time
when Jesus was more than a name to me.
V/hen I knelt, a child, beside my mother on
the grassy hills of Hebron, it seemed that
Jesus was, in some vague way, a reality to
me; but long years of forgetfulness have
passed since then. Stranger, I wish you
well. Your words have brought back to me
the desire to know more of him. If you
learn aught of him, and it ever lies in your
way to do so, come and tell us,— my Musa
and me,— that we too may learn of him."

Rising to her feet, the woman saluted the
Persian and left him. Musa entered to con-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

duct him to the rugs set apart for his couch,
and soon all was silent about the encamp-
nient. afv xhh^i

But ere he fell asleep, Yusuf went out into
the moonlight. The night was fllied with
the peculiar lightness of an Oriental night.
The moon blazed down lilje a globe of
molten silver, and a few large stars glowed
with scarcely secondary brilliance. In the
silvery brightness he could easily read the
manuscript given him by the Jew. It was
the story of the man with the withered hand,
whose infirmity was healed by Jesus In the
synagogue. And there, in the starlight, the
priest boWed his head, and a throng of pent-
up emotions throbbed in his breast.

" Spirits of the stars, show me God. If
this Jesus be indeed the Son of God, show
me him. Give me faith, such faith as had
he of the withered hand, that I too may
stretch forth my hand and be made whole;
that I may loolc, and in looking, see."

This was his prayer. Ah, yet, the " spirits
of the stars" were as a bridge to the gulf
which, he fancied, lay between him and In-
finite Mercy. tii:,s |v^;. (?;,.>■. ,^,;/,nr.:f ^: -in ,.;:■;

>1)c;v f^i^l

CHAPTER III.

YUSUF MEETS AMZI, THE MECCAN.

:;: , " Mecca's pilgrims, confident of

Fate,
And resolute ic heart "

—Lonfffelloio.

HE next morning,
Yusuf, against the
remonstrances of
Musa and his wife, pre-
pared to proceed on his
way. Liiie the Ancient
Mariner, he felt forced
to go on, " to pass lilte
night from land to laud,"
until he obtained that
which he sought.
When he was almost
ready to iepart, a horseman came galloping
down the valley, with the news that a car-
avan, en route for Mecca, was almost in
sight, and would make a brief halt near the

stream by which Musa's tents were pitched.
Yusuf at once determined to avail himself
of the timely protection on his journey.

Presently the caravan appeared, a long,
irregular line— camels bearing " shugdufs,"
or covered litters; swift dromedaries,
mounted by tawny Arabs whose long Indian
shawls were twisted about their heads and
fell in fringed ends upon their backs; fiery
Arabian horses, ridden by Arabs swaying
long spears or lances in their hands; heavily-
laden pack-mules, whose leaders walked be-
side them, urging them on with sticks, and
giving vent to shrill cries as they went; and
lastly a line of pilgrims, some trudgiug along
wearily, some riding miserable beasts, whose
ribs shone through their roughened hides,
while others rode, in the proud security of
ease and affluence, in comfortable litters, or
upon animals whose sleek and well-fed ap-
pearance comported with the self-satisfied
air of their riders.

A halt was called, and immediately all was
ruufusion. Tents were hurriedly thrown up;
the pack-mules were unburdened for a mo-
ment; the horses, scenting the water, began
to neigh and sniflf the air; infants, who had
been crammed into saddle-bags with their
heads out, were hauled from their close quar-
ters; the horsemen of Musa, still balancing
their tutted spears, dashed in and out; while
his herdsmen, anxious to keep the flocks
from mixing with the caravan, shrieked and
gesticulated, hurrying the flocks of sheep off
in noisy confusion, and urging the herds of
dromedaries on with their short, hooke^l
sticks. It was indeed a babel, in which
Yusuf had no part; and he once more seized
the opportunity of looking at the precious
parchment. To his astonishment, he per-
ceived that it was addressed to " Moham-
med, >son of A.)dallah, son of Abdal Motalleb,
Mecca," with the subscription, " From Ser-
gius the Monk, Bosra."

Here then, Yusuf had, in perfect inno-
cence, been entrapped into reading a com-
munication addressed to some one else, and
he smiled sarcastically as he thought of the
inqulsitiveness of the little Jew who had
taken the liberty of " just peeping in."

TEE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

It remalnpfl, now, for Yusuf to find the
Jew and to put him again in possession of
his charge. He searched for him through
the motley crowd, but in vain; then, recol-
lecting that the peddler's bundle had been
left behind, he sought Musa, to see if he had
heard anything of the little busybody.

Musa laughed heartily. " Remember you
not that I said his trumpery would be gone
in the morning? I was no false proi)het.
The man is lilve a weasel. When all sleep he
finds his way in and helps himself to what
he will: when all walie, no Jew Is to be
seen; trumpery and all have gone, no one
Ivuows whither."

So the priest found himself responsible for
the delivery of the manuscript to this
Mohammed, of whom he had never hitherto
heard; and, knowing the contents, he was
none the less ready to carry out the trust,
hoping to find in Mohammed some one
who could tell him more of the same won-
drous story. He therefore placed the parch-
ment vei-y carefully within the folds of his
garment, bade farewell to Musa and his
household, and prepared to leave with the
caravan, which had halted but a short time
on account of the remarljable coolness of the
day.

"Peace be with you!" said the Sheikh:
" and if you ever need a friend, may it be
Musa's lot to stand in good stead to you. I
bid you good speed on your journey. We
have no fears for your safety now; besides
the safety of numbers, the holy month of
Ramadhan* begins to-day. and even the
wildest of the Bedouin robbers usually re-
frain from taking life in the holy months.
Again, Peace be with you! And remember
that the Bedouin can be a friend."

Yusuf embraced the chief tain with grati-
tude, and took his place in the train, wlilch
was already moving slowly down the v dy.

As it often happens that in the lost
numerous concourse of people one feel: inost
lonely, so it was now with Yusuf. There
seemed none with whom he cared to speak.

♦ The month of Ramadhnn was held as holy prior to
Mohammed's time; Ita sanctity was but conllrmed by
him.

Most of the people were self-satisfied
traders busied with the care ot tlie merchan-
dise which they were taking down to dis-
pose of at the great fair carried on during
the Ramadhan. A few were Arabs of the
Hejaz. short and well-knit, wearing looses
garments of blue, drawn back at the arms
enough to show the muscles standing out like
whip-cords. Some were smoking short
chibouques, with stems of wood and bowls
of soft steatite colored a yellowish red. As
they rode they used no stirrups, but crossed
their legs before and beneath the pommel of
the saddle; while, as the sun shone more
hotly, they bent their heads and drew their
kuflyahs far over their brows. Many poor
and somewhat fanatical pilgrims were inter-
spersed among the crowd, and here and
there a dervish, w'th his large, bag-sleeved
robe of brown wool— the Zaabut, worn alike
by dervish and peasant— held his way undis-
turbed.

Yusuf soon ceased to pay any attention to
his surroundings, and sat, buried in his own
thoughts, until a voice, pleasant and like the
ripple of a brook, aroused him.

" What thoughts better Than the thoughts
of a Persian? None. Friend, think you not
so?" - ,

Tlie words were spoken in the Persian
dialect, and the priest lool^ed up In surprise,
to see a ruddy-faced man smiling down upon
him from the back of a tall, white Syrian
camel. He wore the jubboh, or cloak, the
badge of the learned in the Orient; his
beard was turning slightly gray, and his
eyes were keen and twinkling.

" One question mayhap demands another,"
returned Yusuf. " How knew you that I am
a Persian? I no longer wear Persian garb."

"What! Ask an Arab such a question as
that!" said the other, smiling. " Know you
not, Persian, that we of the desert lands
are accustomed to trace by a mark in the
sand, the breaking of a camel-thorn, things
as diflScult? The stamp of one's country
cannot be thrown off with one's clothes.
Nay, more; you liave been noted as one
learned among the Persians."

Yusuf bent his head in assent. "Truly,

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED,

stronger, your penetrrtion Is incomprehen-
sible," he said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"No, no!" returned the other, good-
humoredly; " but, n^arlilng /ou out for what
you are, I thought yorr company might,
perdiance, lessen the dreariness of the way.
I am Amzi, the Meccan. Some call me Amzi
the rich Meccnn; others, Amzi the learned;
others, Amzi the benevolent. For myself.
I pretend nothing, aspire to nothing but to
Icnow all that may be known, to live a life
of ease, at peace with all men, and to help
the needy or unfortunate where I may.
More than one stranger has not been sorry
■ for meeting Amzi the benevolent, In Mecca.
Have you friends there?"
i " None," said Yusuf. " Yet there is a tra-
dition among our people that the Guebres at
one time had temples even in the land of
Arabia. Have you heard aught of it?"
. " It Is said tliat at one time flre-temples
were scattered tlu'oughout this land, each
being dedicated to the worship of a planet;
that at Medina* itself was one dedicated to
the worship of the moon and containing an
image of It. It Is also claimed that the flre-
worshipers held Mecca, and there worshiped
Saturn and the moon, from whence comes
their name of tlie place — Mahgah, or moon's
place. The Guebres also hold here that the
Blacli Stone is an emblem of Saturn, left
In the Caaba by the Persian Maliabad and
his successors long ago. But, friend, Persian
influence has long since ceased in El Hejaz.
Metliinlis you will find but few traces of
your country-people's glory there."

" It matters not," returned the priest.
" The glory of the flre-worshipers has, so far
as Yusuf is concerned, passed away. Know
you not that before his eyes the sacred fire,**
kept alive for well-nigh one thousand years,
went out in the supreme temple ere he left
it? May the great Omniscient Spirit grant
that Persia's idolatries will die out In its
ashes!"

* Medina at this time bore the name of Yathrlb. but
In this volume we shall give It the later and better-
known name of "Medina," derived from the earlier
"Mahdinah."

•• The Moslems noiv assert that the sacred Are went
out of itself at the birth of Mohammed.

"And think you that there is no Idolatry
in Mecca? Friend, believe me, not a house
in Arabian Mecca which does not contain its
idol! Not a man of influence wlio will start
on an expedition without beseeching his
family gods for blessing!"

" And do they not recognize a God over
all?"

" They acknowledge Allah as the highest,
the universal power,— yet he is virtually but
a nominal deity, for they deem that none
can enter into special I'eiationship with him
save through the mediation of the household
gods. In his name the holiest oaths are
nworn, nevertheless in true worship he has
the last place. Indeed, It must be confessed
that neither fear of Allah nor reverence of
the gods has much influence over the mass
of our people."

*' Wliat, then, is the meaning of this great
pilgrimage, whose fame reached me even in
Persia? Does not religious enthusiasm lead
tliose poor wretches, hobbling along behind,
to take such a journey?"

Amzi nodded his head slowly. " Religious
incentives may move the few," he said.
" But, friend, can you not see that barter is
the leading object of the greater number—
of those well-to-do pilgrims wlio are super-
intending the carriage of their baggage so
complacently there? The holy months, par-
ticularly the Ramadhan, afford a peiiod of
comparative safety, a long truce that affords
a convenient season for traffic. Alas, poor
stranger! you will be sad to find that our
city, in the time of the holy fast, becomes a
place of buying and selling, of vice and rob-
bery—a place where gain is all and God is
almost unknown."

" But you. Amzi : what do you believe of
such tilings?"

" In truth, I know not what to think.
Believe in idols I cannot; worship in the
Caaba I will not; so that my religion is but
a belief in Allah, whom I fear to approach,
and whose help and influence I know not
how to obtain, a confidence in my own mor-
ality, and a consciousness of doing good
works."

"Strange, strange!" said the priest, "that

■r

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

-If

we have arrived at somewhat the same
place by different ways! Amzi, let us be
brothers In the quest! Let us rest neither
night nor day until we have found the way
to the Supreme God! Amzi, I want to feel
him, to linow him, as I am persuaded he
may be known; yet, like you, I fear to ap-
proach him. Have you heard of Jesus?"

" A few among a band of coward Jews
who live in the Jewish quarter of Mecca,
believe in One whom they call Jesus. The
majority of them do not accept him as
divine; and among those who do, he seems
to be little more than a name of some one
who lived and died as did Abraham and
Ishmael. His tenehinjr, if, indeed, he taught
aught, seems to have little effect upon their
lives. They live no better than others.
and. Indeed, thej'^ are slurred upon by all
true Mcccans as cowardly dogs, perjurers
and usurers."

Yusuf sighed deeply. It seemed as though
he were following a flitting ignis-fatuus, that
eluded him just as he came in sight of it.

The rest of the day was passed in com-
parative silence. The evening halt was
called, and it was decided to spend the nlglit
in a grassy basin, traversed by the rocky
bed of a mountain stream, a " fiumara."
down which a feeble brooklet from recent
mountain rains trickled. Owing to the
security of the month Ramadhan, it was
deemed that a night halt would be safe, and
the whole caravan encamped on the spot.

As the shades of the rapidly-falling East-
ern twilight drew on, Yusuf sat idly near
the door of a tent, looking out listlessly, and
listening to the chatter of the people about
him.

Not far off a Jewish boy. a mere child, of
one of the northern tribes, as shown by his
fair hair and blue eyes, sang plaintively a
song of the singing of birds and the hum-
ming of bees, of the flowers of the North, of
rippling streams, of the miraged desert, of
the waving of the tamarisk an*^ the scent of

roses.

•rm'yiWii'^'-'i'

V Yusuf observed the childlike form and the
effeminate paleness of the cherub face, and
a feeling of protective pity throbbed In his

bosom as he noted the slender smallness of
tlie iiand that glided over the one-stringed
guitar, showing by its movements, even in
the fading evening light, the blue veins that
coursed beneath the transparent skin. He
called the lad to his side, and bade him sing,
to him. Not till then did he notice the
vacancy of the look which b.'spoke a
slightly wandering mind. Yusuf's great
heart filled with sympathy.

"Poor lad!" he said, "singing all alone!
Where are your friends?"

"Dumah's friends?" said the child, won-
deringly. " Poor Dumah has no friends
now! He goes here and there, and people
are kind to him— because Dumah sings, you
know, and only angels slug. He tells them
of flocks beside the pool, of lilies of Siloam.
of birds in tlie air and angels in the heavens
-then everyone is kind. Ah! the world is
fair!" he continued, with a happy smile.
"The breeze blows ' ot here, sometimes,
but so cool over the sea; and the lilies blow
in the vales of Galilee, and the waves ripple
bright over the sea where he once walked."

" Who, child?"

"Jesus— don't you know?" with a wonder-
ing look. " He sat often by the Lake of
Galilee where I have sat, and tho night
winds lifted his hair as tliey do mine, and
he smiled and healed poor suffering and sin-
ful people. Ah, he did indeed! Poor Dumah
is talking sense now. good stranger; some-
times he does not— the thoughts come and go
before he can catch them, and then people
say, ' Poor little Dumah is demented.' But
if Jesus were here now. Dumah would be
hv^aled. I dreamed one night I saw him. and
lie smiled, and looked upon me so sweetly
and said, ' Dumah loves me! Dumah loves
me!' and then I saw him no more. Friend. I
know you love him, too. What is your
name?" -' ' ^ -

" Yusuf."

"Then, Yusuf. you will be my friend?"

" I will be your friend, poor Dumah!" '^ ^

* Oh, no, Dumah Is not poor! He is happy.
But his thoughts are going now. Ah, they
throng! The visions come! The birds and
the mists and the flowers are twining in a

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

wreath, a wreath that stretches up to the
clouds! Do you not see It?" and he started
off again on his wild, plaintive song.

Yusuf 8 eyes filled with tears, and he drew
the lad to his bosom,
and looked out upon
the grassy plot before
the door, where a huge
fire was now shedding
a flickering and fantas-
tic glare upon the
wrinkled visages of the
Arabs, and lighting up
the scene with a weird
effect only to be seen
In the Orient.

Caldrons were boil-
ing, and a savor; odor
penetrated the air.
Men were talking in
groups, and a little der-
vish was spinning
around nimbly in a sort
of dance. Yusuf looked
at him for a moment.
There seemed to be
something familiar
about his figure and
movements, but in the
darkness he could not
be distinctly seen, and
Yusuf soon forgot to
pay any attention to
him.

He drew the boy, who
had now fallen asleep,
close to him. What
would he, Yu/?uf, not
give to learn fully of
that source from
whence the few meagre
crumbs picked up by
this poor child were yet
precious enough to give him, all wandering
as he was at times, the assurance of a sym-
pathetic God, and render him happy in the
realization of his presence! What must be
the Joy of a full revelation of these blessed
truths, if, indeed, trutlis they were!

The longing for such companionship filled

Yusuf, as he lay there, with an intense de-
sire. He could scarcely define, in truth he
scarcely understood, exactly wlmt he wanted.
There was a lack in his life which no human

A head was thrus'i forward.

It was the little dervish.— See page 1 5.

agency had, as yet, been able to satisfy.
His heart was " reacliing out its arms " to
know God— that was all; and he called it
searching for Truth. ^^ ., . x ;,,.

Far into the night the Persian pondered.
Ids mind beating against the darkness of
what was to him the great mystery; and he

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

prayed for light. He thought of the Father,
yet again he prayed to the spirits of the
planets which were shining so brightly
above him. But did not an echo of that
prayer ascend to the throne of grace? Was
not the eye of Him who notes even the spar-
rows when they fall, upon his poor, strug-
gling child? V ; '
And the end was not yet.

,;/ ^ CHArTER IV.

WHEREIN YUSUP ENCOUNTERS A SAND-
STORM IN THE DESERT, AND HAS SOME-
WHAT OF AN EXPERIENCE WITH THE LIT-
TLE DERVISH. • < ?

" A column lilgh ind vast,
A form of fear and dread."

—Lons^fellow.

•ITH but few
events worthy of
notice the journey
to Mecca was con-
cluded. After a
short halt at
Medina, the cara-
van set out by
one of the three
roads which then
led from Medina
;^ to Mecca.*

The way led through a country whose
aspect had every indication of volcanic
agency in the remote ages of the earth's his-
tory. Bleak plains— through whose barren
soil outcrops of blackened scoriae, or sharp
edges of black and brittle hornblende, ap-
peared at every turn— were interspersed
with wadies, bounded by ridges of basalt
and green-stone, rising from one hundred to
two hundred feet high, and covered with a
scanty vegetation of thorny acacias and
dumps of camel-grass. Here and there a
rolling hill was cut by a deep gorge, showing
where, after rain, a mighty torrent must
foam its way; and, more rarely still, a stag-
nant pool of saltish or brackish water was
marked out by a cluster of daum palms.

• A fourth, the " Darb-el Sharki." or Eastern Road,
has since been built by order of the wife of the famoua
Huroun ul Kaschid.

On all sides jackals howled dismally dur-
ing the night; and above, during the day, an
occasional vulture wheeled, fresh from the
carcass of some poor mule dead by the way-
side.

Such was tlie appearance of the land
through which the caravan wound its way,
beneath a sky peculiar to Arabia— purple at
nlgl)t, white and terrible in its heat at noon,
yet ever strange, weird and impressive.

But one incident worth recounting oc-
curred on the way. Yusuf, Amzl, and the
boy Dumah had been traveling side by side
for some time. The way, at that particular
snot, led over a plain which afforded com-
paratively easy traveling, and thus gave a
better opportunity for conversation. The
talk had turned upon the Guebre worship,
and the priest was amazed at the knowledge
shown by Amzi of a religion so little known
in Arabia.

" I can tell you more than that." said Amzi
in a low tone. " I can tell you that you are
not only Yusuf the Persian gentleman of
leisure, but Yusuf the Magian priest, accus-
tomed to feed the sacred fire in the Temple
of Jupiter. Is it not so? Did not Yusuf 's
hand even take the blood of Imri the infant
daughter of Uzza in sacrifice? Can Yusuf
the Persian traveler deny that?"

Yusuf 's head sank; his face crimsoned
with pain, and the veins swelled like cords
on his brow. '>s -' . , ;

" Alas, Amzi, it is but too true!" he said.
" Yet, upon the most sacred oath that a Per-
sian can swear, I did it thinking that the
blessing of the gods would thus be invoked.
The rite is one not unknown among the
Sabjieans of to-day. and common even among
the Magians of the past. Amzi, it was in
my days of heathendom that I did it, think-
ing it a duty to Heaven. It was Yusuf the
priest who did it, not Yusuf the man; yet
Yusuf the man bears the torture of it in his
bosom, and seeks forgiveness for the black-
est spot in his life! How knew you this,
Amzi ?— If the question be an honorable one."

" Amzl knows much," returned the Mec-
can. " He knows, too, that Yusuf can never
escape the brand of the priesthood. See!"

sii

TEE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

He leaned forward, and drew back the
loose garment from the Persian's breast. A
red burn, or scar, in the form of a torch, ap-
peared in the flesh. As Yusuf liastened to
cover it, a head was thrust forward, and
two bead-lilie eyes peered from a shrouded
face. It was the little dervish.

The priest was ar.noyed at the intrusion.
He determined to taice note of the meddler,
but the occurrence of an event common in
the desert drove all thought of the dervisli
from his mind.

The cry "A simoom! A simoom!" arose
througliout the caravan.

There, far towards the horizon, was a
dense mass of dull, copper-colored cloud, ris-
ing and surging lilie the waves of a mad
ocean. It spread rapidly upwards toward
the zenith, and a dull roar sounded from
afar off, broken by a peculiar shrieking whis-
tle. And now dense columns could be seen,
bent baclvward in trailing wreaths of copper
at the top, changing and swaying before the
hurricane, yet ever holding the form of va-
pory, yellow pillars,— huge shafts extending
from earth to heaven, and rapidly advancing
with awful menace upon the terrifi^id irulti-
tude.

The Arabs screamed, helpless before the
manifestation of what they believed was a
supernatural force, for they look upon these
columns as the evil genii of the plains. Men
and camels fell to the ground. Horses
neighei^ in fear, and galloped madly to and
fro. But the hot breath of the " poison-
wind " was upon them in a moment, shriek-
ing like a fiend among the crisping acacias.
The sand-storm then fell in all its fury, half
smothering the poor wretches, who strove
to cover their heads with thc'r garments to
keep out the burning, blistering, pitiless

dust. ski M^'^':^.,.^ 'x'"

Fortunately all was over in a moment, and
the tempest Avent swirling on its way north-
ward, leaving a clear sky and a dust-buried
country in its wake. i:_^i_ _i^^- :_ ixu^.

In the confusion the dervish had escaped
to the other end of the caravan, and was for-
gotten.

At the end of the tenth day after leaving

Medina the caravan reached the head of the
long, narrow defile in whl<h lies the city of
Mecca, the chief town of El Hejaz. It was
early morning when the procession passed
tliroufili the cleft at the western end; and
the sun was just rising, a glol)e of red, above
the blue mountains towards Tayf, when
Yusuf stoi)pe(l his camel on an eminence in
full view of the city. Tliere it lay in the
lieart of tlie rough blackisli hills, whose long
shadows still fell upon tlie low stone houses
and crooked streets beneath.*

The priest's eager glance sought for the
Caaba. There it was. a huge, stone cube,
standing in the midst of a courtyard two
liundred and fifty paces long by two hun-
dred paces wide, and shrouded from top to
bottom by a heavy curtain of dark, striped
cloth of Yemen.

There was something awe-inspiring in the
scene, and the priest felt a thrill of appre-
hensive emotion as he gazed upon what he
had fondly lioped would prove the end of
his long joiu'ney. Yet his eye clouded; he
covered his face with his mantle and wept,
saying to his soul, " Here, too, have they
turned aside to worship the false, and have
bowed down to idols! My soul! My soul!
Where shait thou find truth and rest?"

Amzi touched him on the arm. " Why do
you weep, friend? Thou art a false Guebre.
truly! Know you not that even they hold
the Caaba in high reverence?"

There was a tone of good-natured raillery
in the voice, and the speaker continued:
" Arouse yourself, my friend. See how they
worship in Mecca. They are at it already!
See them run! By my faith 'tis a lusty
morning exercise!"

Yusuf looked up to see a great concourse
of people gathering in the court-yard. Many
were rushing about the Caaba, and pausing
frequently at one corner of the huge struc-
ture.

" Each pilgrim," explained Amzi, " holds

• Joseph Pitts, A.D. 1680, says: " Mecca is surrounded
for several miles with many thousands of little hills
which are very near to one another. They are all
stony-rock, and bl'icklsh, and pretty near of a bigness,
appenrlni? Pt a distance like cocks of hay, but all
pointing towards Mecca."

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

himself bound to go seven times about the
temple, and the harder he runs the more
virtue there Is in it— performing the Tawaf.
they call it. Those who seem to pause are
kissing the Hajar Aswad— the Black Stone,
which, the Arabs say, was once an angel
cast from heaven in the form of a pure
white Jacinth. It is now blackened by the
kisses of sinners, but will, lu the last day.
arise In its angel form, to bear testimony
of the faithfui who have kissed it. and have
done the Tawaf faithfully. And now, friend,
come to the house of Amzi, and see if he can
be as hospitable as Musa the Bedouin."

Yusuf gratefully accepted the invitation,
and the camels were urged on again down
the narrow, crooked street.

" Know you aught of one Mohammed?"
asked the priest. " A roguish Hebrew left
me, with scant ceremony, in possession of a
manuscript which must be given to him."

" Aye, well do I know him," said Amzi.
" Mohammed, the son of Abdnllah the hand-
some, and grandson of Abdal Motalleb, who
was the son of Haschem of the tribe of the
Koreish— a tribe which has long held a
position among the h'ghc-st of INIecca. and
has, for ages past, had tUe guardianship of
the Caaba itself. Mohammed himself is a
man of sagacity and honor in all his deal-
ings. He is married to Cadljah, a wealthy
widow, whose business he luis long carried
on with scrupulous fairness. He, too, is one
of the few who, in Mecca, have ceased to
believe in idols, and would fain see the
Caaba purged of its Images."

" There are some, then, who cast aside
such beliefs?"

- " Yes, the Hanifs (ascetics), who utterly
reject polytheism. Waraka, a cousin of the
wife of Mohammed, is one of the chief of
these; and Mohammed himself has, for sev-
eral years, been accustomed to retire to the
cave of Hira for meditation and prayer. It
is said that he has preached and taught for
some time In the city, but only to his imme-
diate friends and relatives. Well, here we
are at la8t,"-as a pretentious stone buildiug
was reached. " Amzi the benevolent bids
Yusuf the Persian priest welcome."

Amzi led the priest Into a house furnished
with no small degree of Oriental splendor.

" Rlt^ht to the carven cedorn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,
Droud based fligbts of marble stairs
Ran up with golden balustrade,
After the fashion of the time."

A meal of Oriental dishes, dried fruit and
sweetmeats was prepared; and, wlien the
coolness of evening had come, the two
friends proceeded to the temple.

Entering by a western gate, they found
tlie great quadrangle crowded with men,
women and children, some standing In
groups, with sanctimonious air, at prayers,
while others walked or ran about tlie Caaba,
which loomed huge and somber beneath the
solemn light of the stars. A few solitary
torches— for at that time the slender pillars
with their myriads of lamps had not been
erected— lit up the scene with a weird, wav-
ering glare, and threw deep shadows across
the white, sanded ground.

A curious crowd it seemed. The wild en-
thusiasm that marked the conduct of the
followers of Mohammed ut a later day was
absent, yet every motion of the motley
crowd proclaimed the veneration with which
the place Inspired the impressionable and
excitable Arabs.

Here stood a wealthy Mecca n, with flow-
ing robes, arms crossed and eyes turned
upward; there stalked a tall and gaunt
figure whose black robes and heavy black
head-d'-ess proclaimed the wearer a Bedouin
woman. Here ran a group of beggars; and
there a number of half-naked pilgrims clung
to the curtained walls. Once a corpse was
carried Into the enclosure and borne in
solemn Taw^af round the edifice.

" Look!" cried poor Dumah. " The son of
the widow of Nalnl The son of the widow
of Nain! Oh, why does not he whom Dumah
sees In his dreams come to raise him! But
then, there are Idols here, and he cannot
come where there are other gods before
him."

On surveying the temple, Yusuf discovered
that the door of the edifice was placed seven
feet above the ground. Amzi informed him
that the temple might be entered only at

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

certnln times, but thnt it contained an imn^ro
of Abrahau holding In its hand some arrows
without heads; also a similar statue of Ish-
mael likewise with divining arrows, and
lesser Images of propliots and angels
amounting almost to the number of three
hundred.

Passing round tl<e temple to the north-
eastern corner. Yusuf loolied curiously at
the Blaolt Stone, which was set in the wall
at a few spans from the ground, and which
seemed to be black with yellowish specks in
It.* Many peoi)le were i)res8ing forward io
kiss it, while numy more were drinking and
laving themselves with wate» from a well a
few paces distant,— the well Zem-Zem,— be-
lieving that in so doing their sins were
washed off In the water.

" This," said Amzi, pointing to the spring,
" is said to be the well which gushed up to
give drink to our forefather Ishmael and
Hagar his mother, when they had gone into
the wilderness to die."

Yusuf sighed heavily. Such empty cere-
mony had no longer any attraction for him,
and he turned his eyes towards the moun-
tain Abu Kubays, towering dark and gloomy
above the town, its black crest tonclicd with
a silvery radiance by the light of the stars
shining brilliantly above. i

Was this, then, the Caaba? Was this
what he had fondly hoped would fill his
heart's longing? Was there any food in tliis
empty ceremonial for a hungering soul?
Why, oh why did the truth ever elude him.
flitting like an ignls-fatuus with phantom
light through a dark and blackened wilder-
ness! •:: ><>■ i-'i

Amzi was talking to someone in the
crowd, and Yusuf passed slowly out and
bent his way down a silent and deserted
street. No one was in sight except a very
young girl, almost a child, who was gliding
quickly on in the shadows. Once or twice
she seemed to stagger, then she • fell.

♦Burton says the black stone is volcanic, but is
thought by some to be a meteorite or aerolite. Burck-
hardt thought it comrosed of lava. Of its appearance
AliBeysaya: "It is a block of volcanic basalt, whose
circumference Is sprinkled with little crystals, with
rhombs of tile-red feldspath on a dark background like
velvet or charcoal.

Yusuf hurried to her, and turned her face
to tlie starlight. Even In tliat dim light he
could see that It was contorted with pain.
Yusuf heard the murmur of voices in a low
building close at hand, and. witliout waiting
to knock, he lifted the girl in his arms,
opened the door, and passed in.

CHAPTER V.

NATHAN THE JEW.

" I shall be content, what-
ever happens, for what
God chooses must be bet-
ter than what I can
ch oose. "— Epictetut.

HE same evening on
which Yusuf visited
the temple, a woman
and her two children
sat in a dingy little
room with an earth-
en floor, in one of the
most dilapidated
streets of Mecca.
The woman's face
bore traces of want
and suffering, yet there was a calm dig-
nity and hopefulness in her countenance,
and her voice was not despairing. She sat
upon a bundle of rushes placed on the floor.
No lamp lighted the apartment, but through
an opening In the wall the soft starlight
shone upon the bands of hair that fell in
little braids over her forehead. Her two
beautiful children were beside her, the girl
with her arm about her mother, and the
boy's head on her lap.

" Win we have only hard cake for break-
fast, mother, and to-morrow my birthday,
too?" he was saying.

" That is all, my little Manasseh, unless
the good Father sees fit to send us some
way of earning more. You know even the
hairs of our heads are numbered, so he takes
notice of the poorest and weakest of his
children, and has promised us that there will
be no lack to them that fear him." -

" But, mother, we have had lack many,
many times," said the boy thoughtfully.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

i.'l

ii<

The mother Biiiiled. "But things have
usually come right In the end." she Ha id.
" and you know ' Our llglit affliction, which
Is but for a nionient, worketh for us a far
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.*
We cannot understand all these things now,
but It will be plain some day. * We will
trust, and not be afraid,' because our trust
Is in the Lord; and we know that ' he will
perfv'ct that which concerneth us,' If we
trust him."

"And will he send father home soon?"
asked the boy. " We have been praying for
him to come, so, so long! Do you think God
hears us, mother? Why doesn't he send
father home?"

The woman's head drooped, and a tear
rolled down her cheek, but her voice was
calm and firm.

" Manasseh, child," she said, " your father
may never return; but, though a .Tew, he
was a Christian; and, living or dead, I know
he is safe in the keeping of our blessed
Lord. Yes, Manasseh, God hears the
slightest whisper breathed from the heart of
those who call upon him in truth. He says,
Jesus says. ' I know my sheep, and am
known of mine.' Little son, I like to think
that our blessed Savior, who ' laid down his
life for the sheep,' is here — in this very
room, close to us. Sometimes I close my
eyes and think I see him. looking upon us in
mercy and love from his tender eyes, and he
almost seems so near that I may touch him.
No, he will never forsake us. Little ones,
my constant prayer for you is thi-t yon may
learn to realize the depths of his love, ard to
render him your hearts in return; that you
may feel ever closer to him than to any
earthly parent, and prove yourselves loving,
faithful children of whom he may not be
ashamed."

The woman's voice trembled with emotion
as she concluded, and a glow of happiness
illuminated her thin features.
J; " Well, mother, I was ashamed to-day,"
said little Manasseh. " I got angry and
struck a boy."

" Manasseh! My child!"

" You cannot understand, mother; you are

so good that you never get angry or
wicked. But the anger keei)s rising up In
me till It seems as If my heart would burst;
the blood rushes to my face, my eyes flash-
then— I strike, and think of nothli'g."

She stroked his hair gently. " Manasseh,
m> boy's temper Is one enemy which he has
to conquer. But he must not try to conquer
It In his own strength. We have an Al-
mighty Helper who has given us to know
that he will not suffer us to be tempted be-
yond that we are able, and has bidden us
cast all our care upon him. He will be only
too willing to guide us and uphold us by his
power, if we will but let him keep us and
lead us far from all temptation."

" Then what would you do, mother, if you
were in my place when the anger comes
up?"

She stooped and kissed him. " I would
say, 'Jesus, help me,' and leave it all to
him."

Just then a step sounded at the door.
Some one entered, and a cry of " Father!
Oh. father!" burst from the children. The
mother sprang, trembling, to her feet. It
was the long-lost husband and father!

Then the lamp was lighted, and the trav-
eler told his loved ones the story of his long
absence; how he had embarked at Jeddah
on a foist bound for the head of the Red
Sea; how he had been shipwrecked; had be-
come ill of a fever as the result of exposure;
and how he had at last made his painful
way home by traveling overland.

As they thus sat, talking in ecstasy of Joy
at their reunion, the door opened and Yusuf
entered with the girl in his arms.

Water was sprinkled upon her face and she
soon recovered. She placed her hand on her
brow in a dazed way, then sprang up, and,
just pausing for an instant In which her
wondrous beauty might be noted, dashed off
into the night.

" It is Zelnab, the beautiful child of Has-"
san," said the Jewess. " She will be well
again now. The paroxysms have come
before."

" Sit you down, friend," said her husband
to Yusuf. " We were just about to break

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

bivnd. 'TIh n soanty nipnl," he addod. with
a sniilo. " But we have been enjoined to ' be
not forgetful to entertain Htmngers,' be-
cause many have thus entertained auKt^lM
unawares. We shall be glad of the com-
pany,"

There was a manly uprightness In the look
and tone of Nathan the Jew which canght
Yusuf's fancy at once, and he sat down
without hesitation at the humble l)oard.

And there, in tliat little, dingy room, he
saw the first gleam of tliat radiant light
which was to transform the whole of his
after life. He heard of the trials and dis-
appointments, of tl»e heroic fortitude born of
that trust In and union with (iod which he
had so craved. He received his first glimpse
of a God, human as we are human, who un-
derstands every longing. e\ery doubt, every
agony that can bleed tlie heart of a poor
child of earth.

He scarcely dured yet to believe that this
God was one really with him at all times
and in all places, eeing, hearing, knowing,
sympathizing. He scarcely dared to realize
the possibility of a companionship with him,
or the fact that the mediation of the planet-
spirits was but a myth. Yet he did feel, in
a vague way, that the light was breaking,
and a tumultuous, undefined, hopeful ecstasy
took possession of his being. Yusuf's heart
was ready for the reception of the truth.
He was unprejudiced. He had cast aside all
dependence upon the tenets of his former be-
lief. He had become as a little child anx-
ious for rest upon its father's bosom. He
sought only God, and to him the light came
quickly.

There was an infinity of blessed truth to
learn yet, but, as he went out into the night,
he knew that a something had come into his
life, transforming and ennobling it. The
divinity within him throbbed heart to heart
with the Divinity that is above all, in all,
throughout all good. Though vaguely, he
felt God; he knew that now, at last, he had
entered upon the right road.

Then he thought of Amzi. He must try
to tell him all this. Surely Amzi the learned,
the benevolent, would rejoice too in hearing

the story of Jesus' life on earth, of his com-
ing as an expression of tiie love of (iod lo
man, tliat man might know Ciod.

TlH'ough the dark streets he hastened,
thinking, wondering, rejoicing. He sought
the bedside of Amzi on tlie flat roof.

*' Amzi, awake!" lie cried.

"What now, night-hawk?" said the Mec-
can. in his good-natured, half-railing tone.
" Why pounce upon a man thus In the midst
of Ids slumbers?"

" Amzi, I have heard glorious news of
him— that Jesus of whom we have talked!"

"Well?"

" He seems indeed to be the God for wliom
I have longed. They have been telling me of
his life, yet I realize little save that he came
to earth that men might know him; that he
died to show men the depth of his love; and
tliat he is with us at every time, in every
place — even here, now, on this roof! Only
think of it, Amzi! He is close beside us, sett-
ing us, hearing us, knowing our very hearts!
There is no need more of appealing to the
spirits of the stars. Ah, they were ever far,
far off!"

"And where learned you all this, friend
priest?" There was an indifferent raillery in
the tone which chilled Yusuf to the heart.

" From Nathan, a Christian^ Jew, and his
v;ife— people who live close to God If any
one does."

" In the Jewish quarter?" ,

" Even so." , , '' >

Amzi laughed. " Truly, friend, you have
chosen a fair spot for your revelation— a
quarter of filth and vice. A case of good com-
ing out of evil, truly!"

" Will you not grant that there are some
good even in the Jewish quarter?"

" Some, perhaps; yet there are some good
among all peoples."

"Amzi, can you not believe?"

" No, no, friend Yusuf; I am glad for your
happiness— believe what you will. But it Is
foreign to Amzi's nature to accept on hear-
say that which he has not inquired Into—
probed to the bottom even. He cannot ac-
cept the testimony of any passing stran^'or,
however plausible it may seem. Rejoice if

!
!

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

you will, YuHUf, in tlu> Hpiliit; uf u nl)(l)t-
tuno, but leave Auizi to seek fur the deep
waters Htlll."

Anizi was now tnlklnf? quickly nnd Ini-
preKHlvt'ly.

Yusuf was uQiazod. The llj?ht wuh Im'kIu-
nhiK to Khino ho brightly In IiIh own houI tlmt
he could not comprehend why others could
not see and believe llkev/lse. lit' talked with
Ills friend until the dawn bepin to tint the
top of Abu Kubays. but without effect. At
every turn he was met by the bitter preju-
dice held by the Meccans against the whole
Jewish race, u prejudice which kept even
Amzl the benevolent from bellevluf? In any-
thing advocated by them.

" Why do they not show Christ In their
lives, then?" he would say.

" You cannot Judge the whole Christian
band by the misdeeds of a few, who are,
indeed, no Christians," Y^usuf ])leaded.

" True; yet a religion such as you describe
should appeal to more of them, and would,
If it were all you Imagine It to be. A per-
fect religion should be exemplified in the
lives of those who profess It."

" I grant you that that Is true," was Yu-
suf's reply. " And as an example let me
bring you to Nathan and his family. No-
body could talk for one hour to them without
feeling that they have found, at least, some-
thing which we do not possess. This some-
thing, they say. Is their God."

" Well, well, I shall do so to please you,"
said Amzi indifferently, " but I hope that a
longer acquaintance may not spoil your trust
in these pec \"

Further e: ^ostulation was vain. Yusuf re-
tired to his own apartment, and prayed long
and fervently, in his own simple way, offer
Ing thanks for the light which was breaking
so radiantly on his own soul, and beseeching
the loving Jesus to touch the heart of Amzi.
who, he knew, though less enthusiastic than
he, also deolred to know truth. r ^r

And before he lay down for a short rest,
he said:

" Grant, O Jesus, thou who art ever pres-
ent, that I may know thee better, and that
Amzi, too, may learn to know thee. Reveal

thyself to him as thou art revealing thyself
to me. that we may know thee qh we
Hho\dd."'

The priest's face grew radiant with happi-
ness as he concluded.

And yet, In that same city, vice held sway;
for, even as th»» priest prayed, a dark tlgure
emerged from an unused upi)er attic In the
house of Nathan the Jew. and, escaping by a
window, descended a garden stoir and
disappeareil in the darknews. Even in that
dim light, had one h)oked he might have
n(tt«'d that the mysterious prowler wore the
dress of a dervish.

CHAPTER VI.

YUSUF'S FIRST MEETING WITH MOHAMMED.

" A person with abnormal auditory sensations often
comes tn interpret them us voices of demons, or as tbe
voice of one commanding blm to do some deed. This
bulluclnation. in turn, becomes an apperceivinh organ,
i. e., other perceptions and ideas are assimilated to it:
it becomes a center about which many ideas gather
and are correspondingly distorted."— .i/ci^/tan, Psy-
chology

%^ "^W '^vPON the evening of
^v ^t ™ M the following day,

Amzl and Yusuf set
out in quest of Mo-
hammed, to whom
the manuscript had
not yet been given.
Stopping at the
house of Cadljah, a
stone building having
some pretensions to
grandeur, they learned
that Mohammed had left
the city. Accordingly, thinking he would
probably be found in the Cave of Hira, they
took a by-path towards the mountains.

The sun was hot, but a pleasant breeze
blew from the plains towards the Nejd, and,
from the elevation which they now ascended,
Yusuf noted with Interest a scene every
IK)int of which was entirely different from
that of his Persian home— different perhaps
from that of any other spot on the face of
the earth; a scene desolate, wild, and barren,

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

yet destinort to be the ornrile of a mljrhty quite visible. Ytisuf had observed the jfrent
movemoijt that was ere long to agitate the Hystein of barter, the buyluR and HelllnR that
entire peninsula o** Arabia, and eventually went on beneath the roof of that long por-
to exereiHe ItM baneful Infliience over a great tleo, within the vei'y precincts of the temple
part of the Eastern Hem-
isphere.*

Below him lay the long,
narrow, sandy valiey. No
friendly group of pnhns
arose to break Its d eary
monotony; no green luing,
save a few parched aloes,
was there to form a pleas-
ant resting - place for the
eye. The passes below,
those ever - populous roads
leading to the Nejd, Syria,
Jeddah, and Arabla-Fell.v,
were crowded with people;
yet, even their presence
did not suffice to remove
the air of deadness from
the scene. Of one thing
only could the beholder be
really conscious — desola-
tion, desolation; a desolate
city surrounded by huge,
bare. sk(>leton - lllce moun-
tains, grim old Abu Ku-
bays with the city stretch-
ing half way up Its
gloomy side, on the east;
the Red mountain on the
west; Jebel Kara toward
Tayf. and Jebel Thaur
with Jebel Jiyad the
Greater, on the south.

Yusuf watched the peo-
ple, many of whom were
pilgrims, swarming like so
many ants below him
towards the Caaba, vrhich
was in full view, standing
like a huge sarcophagus In tlie center of the
great courtyard. In the transparent air of
the Orient, even the pillars supporting the
covered portico about the courtyard were

* By the Intest statistics the number of Mohamme-
dans now scattered throughout Asia, Africa, and the
south-eastern part of Europe amounts to some 176,-
834,372.

" Read, O Mohammed, and see him who was able to restore the withered

hand."— See pajfc 23.

set apart for the worship of the Deity, and.
as he watched the pigmy creatures, now
swarming towards the trading stalls, now
hastening to perform Tawaf about the tem-
ple, he almost wept tliat such sacrilege
should exist, and a great throb of pity for
these erring people whose spiritual nature

^>r.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

■ i^

was barren as the vast, treeless, vcrdureless
waste about them, filled his breast.

Am;;! directed his attention towards the
east, where the blue mountains of Tayf stood
like outposts la the distance.

" There," said he, " at but a three days'
Journey is the district of plenty, the Canaan
of Mecca, whence come the grapes, melons,
cucumbers, and pomegranates that are to be
seen In our markets. There are pleasant
dales and gardens where the camel-thorn
gives way to a carpet of verdure; where the
mlmos.. and acacia give place to the glossy-
leaved flg-tree, to stately palms, and pome-
granates of the scarlet fruit; where rippling
streams are heard, and the songs of birds fill
the air. - There is a tradition that Adam,
when driven out of the Garden of Eden, set-
tled at Mecca; and there, on the site of the
temple yonder, and Immediately beneath a
flittering temple of pearly cloud, shimmer-
ing dews, and rainbow lights said to be in
Paradise above,— the Balt-el Maamur of
Heaven,— was built, by the help of angels,
the first Caaba, a resplendent temple with
pillars of jasper and roof of ruby. Adam
then compassed the temple seven times, as
the angels did the Batt above in perpetual
Tawaf He then prayed for a bit of fertile
land, and immediately a mountr.in from
Syria appeared, performed Tawaf round the
Caaba, and then settled down yonder at
Tayf. Hence, Tayf is ven yet called ' Kita
mln el Sham '—a piece of Syria, the father-
land."

" So then, this Caaba, according to tra-
dition. Is of early origin?"

" The Arabs believe that when the earthly
Bait-el Maamur was taken to heaven at
Adam's death, a third one was built of stone
and mud by Seth. This was swept away by
the Deluge, but the Black Stone was kept
safe In Abu Kubays. which is, therefore,
called ' El Amin "— t' e Honest. After the
fiood, a fourth House was built by our
father Abraham, to whom the angel
Gabriel restored the stone. Abraham's build-
ing was repaired and In part restored by the
Amalikah tribe. A sixth Caaba was built
by the children of Kahtan, Into whoae tribe,

say the Arabs, Ismail was married. The
seventh house was built by Kusay bin Kilab,
a forefather of Mohammed, and I have
reason to believe that he was the first vvho
filled It with the idols which now disgrace
its walls. Kusay's house was burnt, its cloth
covering (or kiswah) catching fire from a
torch. It was rebuilt by the Koreish
(Qurftis) a few years ago. It was then thai
the door was placed high above the ground,
as you see It, and then that the movable stair
was constructed. Then, too, the six columns
which support the roof were added, and
Mohammed, El Amin, was chosen to deter-
mine the position of the Black Stone in the
wall. So, friend, I have now given you In
part, the history of the Caaba."

Bestowing a last look upon the temple, the
friends walked for some distance northward
across the slopes of Mount Hira, until a low,
dark opening appeared in the face of a rock.

Drawing back a thorny bush from its door,
they entered the cave. A low moaning noise
sound d within. For a moment, the tran-
sition from the white glare without to the
twUigiit of the cave blinded them, then
they saw that the moans proceeded from
Mohammed, who was lying on his back on
the stone floor. His head-dress was awry,
his face was purple, and froth Issued from
his mouth.

Amzl seized an earthen vessel of water,
and' bathed his brow, r ' . .' ? ■

"Poor fellow!" he said, "how often he
may have sufferi^d here alone! It has been
his custom for years to spend the holy month
of Ramadhan here in prayer and meditation.
He has often taken these fits before; but. If
what is said be true, he knows not that he is
suffering, for angels appear to lilm dui'ing
the paroxysms." ? -■ -Wi>t " -vriW-

" It seems to me much more like a fit of
epilepsy," said Yusuf. rather sarcastically.
" See, he begins to come to himself again."

Mohammed had stopped moaning, and his
face began to regain its natural color.

Presently he opened his eyes In a dazed
way, and sat up. He was a man of middle
height, with a ruddy, rather florid com-
plexion, a high forehead, and very even,

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

white teeth. There was something com-
manding and dignified in hi« appearance. He
wore a bushy beard, and was habited in a
striped cotton gown of cloth of Yemen; and,
from his person emanated the sweet odor of
choicest perfumes of the Nejd and Arabia-
Felix.

"Ah, it is Amzi!" he said. "Pardon me,
friend, but the angel has just left me, and I
failed to recognize you at once, my mind was
so occupied with the wonder of his communi-
cations; for, friend, the time is nigh, even at
hand, when the prophet of Allah, the One,
the only Person of the Godhead, is to be pro-
claimed!"

His voice was low and musical, and he
spoke as one under the influence of an in-
spiration.

" Has the angel appeared to you in visible
form?" - .

" Sometimes he appears in human form,
but in a blinding light; at other times I hear
a sound as of a silver bell tinlding afar.
Then I bear no words, but the truth sinlis
upon my soul, and burns itself into my
brain, and I feel that the angel spealts."

"Of what, then, has he spoken?" asked
Amzi.

" The time in which the full revelation
shall be thrown open to man is not yet. But
it will come ere long. None, heretofore, save
my own kin and friends, have been given
aught of the great message; yet to you.
Amzi, may I say that Abraham, Moses.
Christ, have all been servants of the true
God. yet for Mohammed has been reserved
the honor of casting out the idolatry with
which the worship of our people reeks. For
him is destined the glory of purging our
Caaba of its images, and of reinstating the
true religion of our fathers in this fair land.
Then shall men know that Allah is the one
Goo, and Mohammed Is his prophet!"

" Think you to place yourself on an
equality with the Son of God?" cried Yusuf,
sternly.

Mohammed turned quickly upon him, and
his face worked in a frenzy of excitement.

" I tell you there is, but one God,— one in-
visible, eternal God, Allah above all in earth

and hea en,— and Mohammed is the prophet
of God!" he cried.

Yusuf perceived that he had to deal with
a fanatic, a religious enthusiast, who would
not be reasoned with.

" Yes," he continued, " may it be Moham-
med's privilege to lead men back to truth,
and to turn them from heathendom; to teach
them to be wise as serpents, harmless as
doves, and to show them how to walk with
clean hands and hearts through the earth,
living uprightly in the sight of all men!"

" Yet," ventured Yusuf. " did not Jesua
teach something of this?"

" Jesus was great and good," said Moham-
med; " he was needed in his day upon the
earth, but men have fallen away again, and
Mohammed is the greatest and last, the
prophet of Allah!"

The speakei*'s eyes were flashing; he was
yet under the Influence of an overpowering
excitement. The color began to rush to his
face, find iusuf, fearing a return of the
swoon, deemed it wise not to prolong the ar-
gument, but delivered the manuscript left by
the peddler, saying:

" Read, O Mohammed, and see him who
was able to restore the withered hand
stretched forth in faith. Perceive him, and
commit not this sacrilege."

Trusting himself to say no more, Yusuf
hastily left the cavern, followed by Amzi,
who remarked, thoughtfully: •' .ii '

" Yet, there is much good, too, in that
which jNIohammed would advocate."

" There is," assented Yusuf. " Yet, though
I know not why, I cannot trust this man.
'Tis an instinct, if you will. What, think
you, does he mean to win by this procedure,
—power, or esteem, or fame?"

Amzi sliook his head quickly in denial.
" Mohammed is one of the most upright of
men, one of the last to seek personal favor or
distinction by dishonest means, one of the
last to be a maker of lies. Verily, Yusuf, I
know not what to think of his revelations. If
he does not In truth see these visions, he at
least imagines he does. He is honest in
what he says."

"*If he does not In truth'!" repeated

THE DAY8 OF MOHAMMED.

Yusuf. " Surely you, Anial, have no con-
fidence in his visions V *

Amzi smiled. " And yet Yusuf, no longer
apo than last night, was ready to believe the
testimony of a pauper Jew in regard to simi-
lar assertions," he said. " But keep your
mind easy, friend; I have not accepted Mo-
hammed's claims. I am open to conviction
yet, and I am not hasty to believe. In fact, I
must confess, Yusuf, an entire lack of that
fervor, of that capacity for religious feeling,
which is so marked a trait in my Persian
priest."

" Yet you, too, professed to be a seeker
for truth," said Yusuf. reproachfully. V

" My desire for truth is simply to know it
for the mere sake of knowing it," said Amzi.

Yusuf sighed. He did not realise that he
had to deal with a peculiar nature, one of
the hardest to impress in spiritual things—
the indifferent, calculating mind, which is
more than half satisfied with moral virtue,
not realizing the infinitely higher, nobler,
happier life that comes from the inspiration
of a constant comi)anionship with (lod.

" Alas, I am but a poor teacher, Amzi," he
said. " You know, perhaps, more of the doc-
tiines of these Christians than I; yet I am
conv'nced that to me has come a blessing
which you lack, and I would fain you had it
too. And I know so little that it seems I can-
not help you. \ou will, at least, come and
talk with Nathan?" unvi i

" As you will," said Amzi. In a half -banter-
ing tone. " Prove to me that these Hebrews
are infallible, and I shall half accept their
Jewish philosophy." i T ,^!frr lf^|? -;v ■- f f

* You cannot expect to find them or any
one on this earth infallible," returned Yusuf,
quietly. " I can only promise that you will
find in them quiet, sincere, upright Chris-
tians."

They had reached a sudden turn on the
path, and before them, on the top of a steep
cliff, stood Dumah, with his fair hair stream-
ing in the sunshine. He was singing, and
they paused to listen.

" He Is gone, the noble, the handsome,
And the tenrs of the mother are falling
Like dew3 from the cup of the Illy
When it bends Its head in the darkness."

"Poor Dumah!" said Amzi "singing his
thoughts as usual. V/hat uow, Dumah V
Who is weeping?"

"A poor Jewess," said the boy, "and her
two children cling to her gown and weep too.
Ah, if Dumah had power he would soon set
him free."

" Set whom free?" asked Yusuf.

" The father; they say he took the cup to
buy bread; but for the sake of *he children,
Dumah would set him free." tt iv.,:,,- y.,, ■:■

" Oh, it is only a case of stealing down in
the Jewish quarter," said Amzi, carelessly.

" Yet," returned the other, *' a weeping
mother and helpless children should appeal
to the heart of Amzi the benevolent. Let us
turn aside and see what it is about. Dumah,
lead us."

They followed the boy to the hall or court-
room of the city. A judge sat on a raised
dais; witnesses were below, and the owner
of the gold cup was talking excitedly and
calling loudly for justice.

" There is the culprit," whispered Amzi.

Yusuf was struck dumb. It was Nathan,
the Christian Jew! Agony was written in
his face, yet there was patience in it too.
His arms were bound, and his head was bent
in what might have been interpreted as hu-
miliation.

" Once more," cried the judge, " have you
aught to say for yourself, Jew?"

Nathan raised his head proudly, and looked
the judge straight in the eyes.

" I am guiltless," he said, in low, firm
tones.

A murmur burst from the crowd, and ex-
clamations could be heard.

*' Not guilty! And the cup found in his
house!"

" Coward dog! Will he not yet confess?"

"The scourge is too good for him!"

" Have you no explanation to offer?" asked
the judge.

" None."

" Then, guards, place him in irons to await
our further pleasure. In the meantime forty
lashes of the scourge. Next!"

Nathan walked out with firm step and
head erect. A low sob burst from some one

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

in the crowd. It was the wife of Nathan,
weeping, while little Mauasseh and Mary
clung to her weeping too.

Yusuf touched her on the arm. " Hush!
Be calm!" he said. " All will yet be well. I,
for one, Itnow that he is innocent, and I will
not rest until he i« free."

"Tliank God! He has not forsaken us!"
exclaimed the woman.

Yusuf put a piece of money into
Manasseh's hand. " Here, take ycmr mother
home, and buy some bread," he said.

" And here, pretty lad. know you the touch
of gold?" said Amzi, as he slipped another
coin into the child's hand. " Now. Yusuf."
he went on, " come, let us see your .fewish
friends of yester-even."

" Alas, Amzi, these are they," returned the
priest, sadly, " and I fear yon poor woman
feels little like talking to us in the freshness
of her grief."

Amzi laughed, mysteriously. " So your
teacher has proved but a common Jew
thief," he said. ,.;>; i ; . . . . , : '; ,«: ■ w:

Yusuf turned almost fiercely. " Do you be-
lieve this vile story?" he exclaimed. " Did
you not see truth stamped upon Nathan's
face?" f .

" You must admit that circumstances are
against him. The proof seems conclusive."

" I will never believe it. wei*e the proof
produced by their machinations ten times as
conclusive! There is some mystery here
which I will unravel!"

" My poor Yusuf, you are too credulous iu
respect to these people. So be it. You be-
lieve in your Jews, 1 shall believe in my
Mohammed, until the tale told is a different
one," laughed Amzi; and for the moment
Yusuf felt helpless.

-•-& 'ih :>lvci-\ J')' >••/■>;:' •.-?; ((;.i"V^)i

- ,- - • - - -r—.'-Tr^r**

CHAPTER VII. V^*nf r

YUSUF STUDIES THE SCRIPTURES.— CON-
NECTING EVENTS.

" Surely un humble busbandnian that serveth God
is better tbaa a proud philosopber who, neglecting

himself, is occupied in studying the course ot the
heavens."— -Thotnas d Kempis. r t • %.

OR many weeks,
even months, after
this, Yusuf's life, to
one who knew not the
workings of his mind,
seemed colorless, and
filled witii a monoton-
ous round of never-
varying occupation. Yet
in those few weeks he
lived more than in all
his life before. Life is
not made up of either years or actions— t lie
development of thought and character is the
important thing; and in this period of ap-
parent waiting, Yusuf grew and developed
in the light of his new understanding.

He read and thouglit and studied, and yet
found time for paying some attention to
outer affair.s. In Persia he had amassed a
considerable fortune, which he had conveyed
to Mecca in the form of jewels sewn into his
belt and into the seams of his garments,
hence he was abundantly able to pay his
way, and to expend something in charity;
and between his and Amzi's generosity tlie
family of Nathan lacked nothing.

Yusuf obtained possession of parts of the
Scriptures, written on parchment, and spent
every morning in their perusal, ever finding
this period a precious feast full of comfort-
ing assurances, and hope-inspiring promises.
He never forgot to pray for Aiiizi, to whom
he often read and expounded passages of
Scripture, without being able to notice any
apparent effect of his teaching.

It troubled him much that Amzi lent such
a willing ear to Mohammed, and to the few
fanatics among the Hanifs who had now
professed their belief In this self-proclaimed
prophet of Allah. It seemed marvelous that
a man of Amzi's wisdom and learning should
be so carried away by such a flimsy /doctrine
as that which Mohammed now began to pro-
claim. Amzi appeared to have fallen under
the spell wnich Mohammed seemed to cast
over many of those with whom he came in
contact; and, though he acknowledged no

i:l'

i.\-

■ ^ i.. i. . .i,. < , ,j>^i > . |iyMf» ' .-Ui i l > V<«

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

belief in the so-called prophet, neither did he
profess disbelief in him.

Yusuf's hapisiest hours were those spent in
the little Jewish Christian church, a poor,
uncomfortable building, where an earnest
handful of Jews, who were nevertheless firm
believers in the divinity of Christ, met, often
in secret, always in fear of the derisive
Arabs, for prayer and study of the Gospel.
Araonji these, the wife of Natlian was never
absent.

Yusuf sought untiringly to solve the mys-
tery of the gold cup. Circumstantial evi-
dence was certainly against Nathan. Awad,
a rich merchant of Mecca, had placed the
cup near a window in his house, and had for-
gotten to remove it ere retiring for the night.
A short time before dawn he had heard a
noise and risen to see what it was. He had
gone outside just in time to see a figure pass-
ing hurriedly across a small field near his
house. Even then he had not thought of the
cup. But in the morning it was missed, and
tracks were followed from the window as
far as the ruined house to which Nathan's
family had gone in their poverty. The house
wa« searched, and the cup was found hidden
in a heap of rubbish in an unused apart-
ment.

Nathan had just returned with little save
the clothes he wore; it was well known that
his wife and children had been verging on
starvation, and the public, ever ready to
judge, formed its own conclusion, and turned
with Nemesis eye upon the poor Jew.

No clue whatever remained, except a smaii
carnelian, which Yusuf found afterwards
upon the floor, and which he took possession
of at once. For hours he would wander
about, hoping to find some trace of the rob-
ber, who, he firmly believed, had fancied
himself followed by Awad, and had hurriedly
secreted the cup, trusting to return for it
later, and to make bis escape in the mean-
time.

All this, however, did not help poor
Nathan, who, chained and fettered, lan-
guished in a close, poorly-ventilated cell,
with little hope of deliverance. Yusuf knew
the rancor of the Meccans against the Jews,

and somewhat feared the result, yet he did
not give up hope.

" We are praying for him," Nathan's wife
would say. " Nathan and Yusuf are praying
too, and we know that whatever happens
must be best, since God has willed it so for
us."

Little Manasseh chafed more than anyone
at the long suspense. One day he said:

" Mother, my name means blackness, sor-
row, or something like that, does it not?
Why did you call me Manasseh? Was it to
be an omen of my life?"

" Forbid that it should!" the mother ex-
claimed, passing her hand lovingly through
his waving hair. " It must have been be-
cause of your curls, black as a raven's wing.
Sorrow will not be always. Joy may come
soon; but if not, 'at eventide it shall be
light.' "

" Does that mean in heaven?" he asked.

" He has prepared for us a mansion in the
heavens, an house not made with hands.
' There shall be no night there,' and ' sorrow
and sighing shall fiee away,' " said the
mother with a far-away look in her eyes.

" But it seems so long to wait, mother,"
said the boy impatiently.

" Yet heaven is not far away, Manasseh,"
she returned, quickly. " Heaven is wherever
God is. And have we not him with us al-
ways? ' In all thy ways acknowledge him,
and he shall direct thy paths.' Never forget
that, Manasseh."

" Well, I wish we were a little happier
now," he would say; and then, to divert the
boy's attention from his present troubles, his
mother would tell him about her happy home
in Palestine, where she and her little sister,
Lois, had watched their sheep on the green
hillsides, and woven chains of flowers to put
about the neck of their pet lamb; of how
they grew up, and Lois married the Bedouin
Musa, and had gone far away.

Thus far, Yusuf knew nothing of this con-
nection of Nathan's family with his Bedouin
friends. It was yet to prove another link in
the chain which was binding him so closely
to this godly family. His many occupa-
tions, and the feeling which impelled him at -^

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

' every spare moment to seek for some clue
which would lead to Nathan's liberation, left
him little time for conversation with them
for the present, except to see that their
wants were supplied.

Then, too, he was troubled about Amzi,
and somewhat anxious about the result of
Mohammed's proclamations, which were
now beginning to be noised abroad. From
holding meetings in caves and private
houses, the " prophet " had begun to preach
on the streets, and from the top of the
little eminence Sufa, near the foot of Aba
Kubays.

Many of the people of Mecca held him up
to ridicule, and treated his declarations with
derisive contempt. Among his strongest op-
ponents were his own kindred, the Koreish,
of the line of Haschem and of the rival
line of Abd Schems. The head of the latter
tribe, Abu Sofian, Mohammed's uncle, was
especially bitter. He was a formidable foe,
as he lived in the highlands, his castles being
built on precipitous rocks, and manned by a
set of wild and savage Arabs.

Yet Mohammed went on, neither daunted
by fear nor discouraged by sarcasm. The
number of his followers steadily increased;
his first converts, Ali, his cousin, and Zeid,
his faithful servant, being quiclily joined by
many others.

Mohammed now boldly proclaimed the
message delivered to him in the cave of
Hira the Koran. He declared that the law
of Moses had given way to the Gospel, and
that the Gospel was now to give way to the
Ko'-an; that the Savior was a great prophet,
but was not divine; and that he, Mohammed,
was to be the last and greatest of all the
prophets.

Such assertions were usually received with
shouts of derision; and y«t, when Moham-
med eloquently upheld fairness and sin-
cerity in all public and private dealings, and
urged the giving of alms, and the living of a
pure and humble life, there were those who.
like Amzi, felt that there was something
worthy of admiration in the new prophet's
religion; and his very firmness and sincerity,
even when 8p«,t upon, and covered with mud

thrown upon him as he prayed In tha
Caaba, won for him friends.

The opposition of his uncles, Abu Lahab
and Abu Sofian, was, however, carried on
witli the greatest rancor; and at last a decree
was issued by Abu Sofian forbidding the
tribe of the Koreish from liaving any inter-
course whatever with Mohammed. This de-
cree was written on parchment, and hung up
in tlie Caaba, and Mohammed was ulti-
mately forced to flee from the city. He and
his disciples Avent for refuge to the ravine of
Abu Taleb, at some distance from Mecca.
Here they would have suffered great want,
had it not been for the kindness of Amzi,
who managed to send them food in seciet.

But the prophet's zeal never flagged. When
the Ramadhan again came round, and it was
safe to venture from his temporary retreat,
he came boldly into the city, preached again
from the hill Safa. and proclaimed his new
revelations, praying for tlie people, and end-
ing every prayer with the declaration now
universal throughout the Moslem world,—

" God! There is no God but he, the ever-
liviag! He sleepeth not, neither doth he
slumber! To him belong the heavens and
the earth, and all that they contain. Who
shall intercede with him unless by his per-
mission? His sway extendeth over the
heavens and the earth, and to sustain them
both is no burthen to liim. He is the High,
the Mighty!"

The sublimity of this eulogy of the Most
High may be readily traced to the psalms,
particularly to that grandest of all songs, the
one hundred and fourtli psalm, which has
been said to be remarkablfc in that it em-
braces the wliole cosmos. And. in fact, tlie
whole trend of the Koran may be traced
to a study of the Bible, particularly to the
New Testament, with occasional digres-
sions into the Mishnu, and the Talmud of
the Hebrews.

" Feed the hungry! Visit the sick! Bow
not to idols! Pray con? -^tly. and direct thy
prayers immediately to the Deity!" These
were the constant exhortations of the
prophet during these first days of his min-
iftry— exhortations which demand the ad-

. i'

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

|ttr

li
1 1

miration of all who consider the grossnoss
and Idolatry of the age In which he lived.
Had he never gone further, succeeding ages
might have been tempted to pardon his
hallucinations. At the time, doctrines which
savored of so much magnanimity, and which
were immeasurably in advance of the mocli-
ery of religion tliat had so long held sway
among the majority of the Arabs, at once
commended tliemsolves to many. The effect
of the new teaching was enhanced by the
burning entluisiasm and powerful oi*atory of
Moliammed. who was not ignorant of tlie
effect of elotiuent delivery and glowing
language on a people ever passionate and
keenly susceptible 1o the influence of a
stronjT and vivid presentation.

Ridicule and persecution ceased for a time,
and at last, when the decree was removed,
Mohammed and his followers returned In
triumph to Mecca.

Once again he was obliged to fly for his
life. Accompanied by Zeid, he went to Tayf ,
and there spent a month in its perfumed
vales, wandering by cooling streams, medi-
tating beneath the waving fronds of the
palm-trees, or resting in cool gardens, lulled
by the rustling leaves of the nebeck (the
lotus-tree), and Inhaling the fresh perfume
of peach and apple blooms.

But the Inhabitants of Tayf grew hostile,
and the prophet again set out on foot for
Mecca. He sat down to rest in an orchard.
There he dreamed that a host of genii waited
before him, begging him to teach them EI
Islam.

In the night* he arose and proceeded, with
renewed courage, on his journey. On the
way he fell in with some pilgrims from
Yathrib, or Medina, and to them he unfolded
his revelations. They listened spell-bound
as he preached from Al Akaba, and besought
him that he would come or would send dis-
ciples with them to their northern town. Ac-
cordingly, Mohammed chose several converts
to accompany them upon this first mission,
and a time was set for their going.

* Moslems assort that upon this night Mohammed
was carried through the seven heavens of which El
Islam tells.

On the evening preceding this^ appointed
time, Yusuf sat in a hanging i)alcony of
Amzi'3 house. The pink flush of the setting
sun was over the sky; the murmur of the
city arose with a subdued hum—" the city's
stilly sound"; a parchment containing a part
of the Scriptures was on the priest's knee,
but he stopped reading and gave himself up
to meditation, wondering deeply at the
strange course that events were taking, and
surmising vaguely the probable result of the
revolution that seemed impending.

His thouglit« tunied to Amzi, who. as yet.
closed his ears to the Gospel tidings which
were proving such a comfort and joy to the
priest.

A step sounded behind him. It was Amzi
himself, attired in traveling garb, and with
his camel-stick already in his hand, ss . ,

" What now, friend Yusuf? Dreaming
still?" he said. "Will you not say farewell
to your friend?"

"What! Are you going on a journey?
Pray, where goes Amzi on such short no-
tice?"

" Ah," smiled Amzi, " I almost fear to tell
my Persian proselyte, lest the vials of his
wi'ath be poured on my defenseless and sub-
missive head. To make a long story short, I
go with the disciples of Mohammed to
Medina."

"As Mohammed's disciple? Amzi, has It
come to this!" exclaimed the priest.

" Chain your choler, my friend," laughed
the other. " I merely go to observe the out-
come of this movement in the town of the
North. Besides, the heat of Mecca in this
season oppresses me, and I long for the cool
breezes of Medina. Yusuf, I shall have rare
letters to write you, for I feel that there will
be a mighty movement in favor of Moham-
med there."

" You begin to believe in him, Amzi!" said
Yusuf in tones of deepest concern.

" His doctrines suit me, as containing
many noble precepts. His proclamations are
moving the town In such a way as was never
known heretofore."

" Consider the movement caused by the
teaching o. Christ when he was on earth!"

1;;

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

cried Yusuf. " Dare you compare this petty
tempest with that?"

** Yet Christ's very words have been here
where all might read them, for lonj; enough.
Why have they not drawn the attention of,
and, if divine, why hav they not shown
their power among, our citizens?"

" Because ye have eyes that see not, and
ears that hear not! ' cried the priest impetu-
ously. " Can you not see that the doctrines
of the Scriptures are just those which Mo
hamme<i proclaims? He seizes upon theui,
he gives them as his own, because he Ivuows
they are good, yet he commits the sacrilege
of posing as a divine agent! Good cannot
come out of this except in so far as a few
precepts of the Gospel, all plagiarized as they
are. exert their Influence upon the lives of
people."

Amzi looked inconvincible. " I gi*ant tlie
excellence of Gospel teaching," he said,
" but your conception of God's love I cannot
seem to feel, often as you have explained it
to me. Mohammed's revelations appear
plausible. Yet, look not so doleful, brother.
Amzi has not become a Mohammedan. Ho
Is still ready to believe as soon as he can
see."

"Yes, yes; like Thomas, you must see and
feel ere you will believe. God grant that the
seeing and feeling may not come too late!"

Amzi smiled, and passed his arm aflfec-
tlonately about the priest's shoulder. " What
a thorn in the flesh to you is Amzi the
benevolent," he said, kindly. '* Notwith-
standing, give me your blessing, priest. Give
me credit for being, at least, honest, and bid
me good-speed before I go."

" Heaven forbid that aught but blessing
from Yusuf should ever follow Amzi!" re-
turned the other, warmly. " May heaven
keep and direct you, my friend, my brother!"

The friends embraced, according to the cus-
tom of the land, and separated; Amzi to join
the half-naked pilgrims, who had not yet
donned their traveling-robes, Yusuf to lift
his heart to Heaven, as he now did in every
circums^^anee. In this silent talk to God he
received comfort, and his heart was filled
with hopfe for Amzi.

Even this journey, which seemed so in-
auspicious, might, he thought, be but the be-
ginning of a happy end. He had learne<l
that there are no trifles in life; that no event
is so inslgnittcant that (Jod may not make
use of It. He felt that Amzi was not utterly
Indifferent to the influence of divine power,
so he waited in patience. -

CHAPTER Vni.

' WHEREIN IS TOLD THE STORY OP
NATHAN'S LIBERATION.

" The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea.
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, ' We are free.' "

—Tennyaon.

URING all this time,
there was no news of re-
lease for poor Nathan.
In his close cell, venti-
lated by one little win-
dow, and, in the fetid
otlor of its air, he pined
away. A low fever had
rendered him exceed-
ingly weak; he coiild
not eat the wretched
food of the prison; his face grew haggard,
and his bones shone through the flesh with
almost skeleton - like distinctness. Yet no
murmur passed his lips.

From his window, set high in the wall, he
could see the sun as it rose over Abu
Kubays; he could catch the occasional glint
of a bright wing as a dove or a swallow
flitted past beneath the white sky; and he
said, " God Is still good, blessed be his
name!"

Yet the grief of being separated from his
loved ones, and +he uncertainty of their wel-
fare, preyed upon his mind, almost shaking
the trust which had upheld him so long. It
was a time of trial for poor Nathan, yet his
faith came foi-th from the trial untarnished.
Yusuf souglit in vain to gain admission to
the poor prisoner: the utmost that he could
accomplish was to pay the attendant for

,1 H
UK

:-'!

•,s.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

'•<[ I

carrying one brief message to him, assuring
him that his wife and children were well,
and cared for. i 4 *

The mystery of the gold cup was still un-
solved. One day, however, when going down
one of the busieet streets, Yusuf saw, at
some distance, a little man wallilng along
with a pack on his bncli. The peculiar hop-
ping motion of his gait proclaimed him at
once to be Abraham, the little Jew.

" The very man!" thought Yusuf. " If any
one between Syria and Yemen can ferret out
a mystery, it is Abraham the peddler; If I
can once set him In earnest upon the track,
deliverance may be speedy for poor
Nathan."

The peddler was walking very rapidly, but
Yusuf strode after h5m, now losing sight of
him in the ci'owd, now catching a glimpse of
hl« little bobbing figure, until, out of breath,
he finally reached him and caught his arm.

The Jew started In surprise. " Defend us,
friend!" he exclaimed. "You come on a
man like the poison-wind, as quickly if not
as deadly. So you are still in Mecca! What
are you doing now?"

He was as inquisitive as ever, but Yusuf
did not resent the trait in him now.

" I am on important business just at pres-
ent, my friend," he said, in his kindliest tone,
" on business in which I am sure Abraham
the Jew can help me, better than any other
man in Mecca."

" Ha!" exclaimed the peddler, " and what
may that be?"

" Can you keep a still tongue when it is
necessary, Jew?" ; -i.. j ;, , ^ .:.^ ^, • :^

The peddler placed his fingers on his lips,
rolled up his eyes, and nodded assent.

" Then come with me to the house of Amzl
the benevolent,— my Meccan home,— and I
shall explain."

When seated comfortably on divans In the
coolest part of the house, Yusuf told the
story of the gold cup, aad intimated that
Abraham's wandeil^j life and the number-
less throngs of people with whom his trade
threw him in contact, gave him facilities,
impossible to others, of doing a little detec-
tive work in a quiet way.

The Jew listened, silent and motionlesfi,
with his eyes fixed on a lotus-bud carved on
the cornice. Only once did he tura and fix
his little round eyes sharply on the priest's
face.

" There is just one more thing—" continued
Yusuf, then he siopi>ed. He was about to
tell of the little carnelian stone, when his eye
fell upon one of the numerous rings upon the
Jew's fat fingers. There, In the center of it,
was a small cavity from which, ai)parently,
a jewel of some sort had fallen from its set-
ting.

Yusuf almost sprang to his feet in the ex-
citement of the discovery.

'Well?" asked the Jew, noting the pause.

" I will tell you later," said Yusuf. " For
the present— have some dates, will you not?"

A servant entered with a tray on which
were fruits and small calces.

The peddler besought Yusuf, for friend-
ship's sake, to eat with him; but the Persian
made a gesture of disgust.

" I have already eaten," he said. " Over-
eating in Mecca in the hot season is not wise.
Abraham, do yor always wear so many
rings on your fingers?"

" Oh, no," returned the Jew, " sometimes 1
wear them; sometimes I carry them for
months In my belt. This "— pointing to a
huge band of ancient workmanship—" is the
most curious one of the lot. I got it for
carrying a bundle of manuscript from a man
at Oman to your friend Amzl, here. It seems
that Amzl had once lived with him at Oman,
but the man— I forget his name — went Inland
to Teheran, or some other place in Persia,
and Amzl, after traveling about for two or
three years, settled in Mecca. This one "—
and he pointed out the ring on which Yusuf 's
eyes were fixed—" is the most expensive of
the lot, but a stone fell out of it once when I
was carrying it In my belt." ^ ^

" Did you not look In your belt for it?"

" No use; it had worked out between the
stitches. I had no idea where I lost it."

" Have you had that ring long?"

" Long! Why, that ring has not been off
my peraon for fifteen years."

" I suppose you would not sell it?"

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

The peddler shrugRed his shoulders, and
looked up with n shrewd glance.

" That depends on how much money It
would bring."

" I have Uttle Idea of the value of such
rings," said the Persian, " but I have a
friend who, I am convinced, would appre-
ciate that one. I should like to present it to
him. Win you take this for It?"

He drew forth a coin worth three times the
value of the ring. The peddler immediately
closed the bargain and handed the ring over,
then devoted his attention again to the table.

The priest went to the window. He drew
the little stone from his bosom and slipped
It Into tlie cavity. It fitted exactly. He then
walked back to the table, and held It before
the astonished Jew.

"How now, ,TeAV?" he said with a smile.
" Saw you such a gem before?"

"My very own carnelian!" exclaimed the
peddler. " Where did you find it?"

" You are sure It is yours?"

" Sure! On my oath, it Is mine. There is
not another such stone in Arabia, with that
streak across the top."

The priest laid his hand on the Jew's
shoulder and bent close to him. " That
stone," he said, " Avas found in the house of
Nathan the Jew, beside the stolen cup. How
came it there?"

The little Jew turned pale. His guilt
showed In his face. He knew that he was
undone.

With a quick, serpent-like movement, he
attempted to escape, but the priest's grasp
was firm as a vise.

" No, peddler!" he said, " you may go, but
It must be with me. To the magistrate you
must go, and that right speedily. The Inno-
cent must no longer suffer In your rightful
place. Come, Aza,"— to an attendant who
had been In the room— "your tongue may
be needed to supplement mine."

The Jew's little eyes rolled around rest-
lessly. He was a thorough coward, and his
teeth chattered with fear as he was half-
dragged Into the blinding glare of the street,
and down the long, crooked way, with a
crowd of beggars and saucy boys following

In tlie wake of the trio. Once or twice again
he made a quick and sudden movement to
elude the grasp of his captors, but the
priest's grip was firm and his muscle like
steel. Justice was in Yusuf's heart, and his
anxiety to procure Nathan's release was so
great that he strode on, almost forgetting the
poor little Jew, who was obliged to keep up
a constant hobbling rim to save himself
from being dragged to the ground.

In the hall of justice the usual amount of
questioning went on, but the evidence
afforded by the ring was so conclusive that
the order for Nathan's release and the ped-
dler's Imprisonment was soon given.

Yusuf accompanied the guards to Na-
than's ceil. The poor prisoner was sitting
on the bare clay with his head burled on his
knee. An unusual clamor sounded outside
of the door. The heavy bolt was with-
drawn, and the next moment Yusuf rushed
In. crying, " Free, Nathan, free!"

Nathan fell on the other's bosom. The
sudden Joy was too much for him, and he
could only lie, like a little child, sobbing on
the breast of the stalwart priest.

The warden rattled the bolts impatiently.
" Come, there's room outside!" he said. " I
have not time to stand here all day!"

" Pardon us." said the priest, gently. " We
go; yet. warden, ere we depart, may I ask
you to deal leniently with that poor
wretch?" and he pointed to the Jew. who
was now crouched shivering in his chains.

" We but do as we are ordered," returned
the warden unfeelingly. " The officers will
be here presently with the scourge; we can
not prevent that."

The peddler winced, and Nathan raised a
face full of pity. "Warden," he said, "if
you have a drop of mercy in your heart. If
you hope for mercy for yourself, treat him
as a man. Let him not die for want of a
pittance of water."

He turned the sleeve of his loose garment
back to expose the emaciated arm with the
bones showing through the loose skin.
" There," he said, " let that touch your
heart, If heart you have, and spare him.
Poor Abraham!"— turning to the peddler—

I-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

" <li(l I not see you here, the Joy of my
relense wouhl be tiriHpeakable."

But Abraham only turned to bestow a
look of hate and malice upon the priest.

Then YuHUf and Nathan passed out into
the pure, fresh air, now flowing cool with
the approach of evening. Never did air
seem 80 pure and sweet; never did swallows
twitter so gladly; never dUl (he peak of Abu
Kubays shine so gloriously In the sun;
never d!i the voices of people sound so joy-
ous or their faces beam so brightly.

" Come," said Nathan, " to my wife and
children, that we may all return thanks to-
gether. Verily * Many are the afflictions of
the righteous, but the Lord debvereth hhn
out of them all.' * Blessed be (Jod. which
hath not turned away my prayer, nor his
mercy from me.' * I had fainted unless T
had believed to see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.' * My flesh falleth.
but God is the strength of my heart, and my
portion forever.' "

So, uttering exclamations from the pages
of Scripture, did the devout .Tew pass on-
ward to his home, vhlcli was once more
filled with "joy and gladness, thanksgiving
and the voice of melody." Before leaving.
Yu3Uf presented him with the ring con-
taining the little stone, as a memento of his
deliverance.

And Abraham? He received the full
weiglit of the scourge; and may we be par-
doned In anticipating, and say that for two
days he lay nursing his wrath and liis
wounds; but, on the third day after his im-
prisonment, his agility suddenly retiu'ued.
He managed In some inexplicable way
known only to himself to work free of his
fetters, and when the keeper came with
food In the evening, blinded by the dim light
of the cell, he did not perceive the little ped-
dler crouched in a heap in the middle of the
floor.

Scarcely was the door oi)ened wJien the
Jew bounced like a ball past the keeper's
feet, almost upsetting him; tlien, darting like
an arrow between \ the astonished guards
without, he was oflP. A hue and cry was
raised, but the little peddler had disap-

peared as completely as If the earth bad
opened up and swallowed him.

CHAPTER IX.

AMZI AT MEDINA.

" With balf-sbut eyes ever to aeem
Fulling asleep iu a half dream!
To dreum and dream like yonder amber light

Which will not leave the
myrrh bush on the
height" —Teimyaon.

ITHOUUT entering
into detail it may be
briefly stated that
tlie success of Mo-
hammed's disciples
in Medina was
simply marvelous.
Converts Joined
the m every day,
while those who
were not prepared to
believe In the Mecean's divine mission were
at least anxious to see and hear the prophet.
Amzi did no work in behalf of the new
religion. He was simply an onlooker,
though not an unsympathetic one; and, It
must be confessed, he spent most of his time
in that voluptuous do-nothingness In which
the wealthy Oriental dreams away so much
of his time,— sitting or reclining on per-
fumed cushions, a fan in his hand and a
long pipe at his mouth, too languid, too list-
less, even to talk; listening to the vsoft mur-
mur of Nature's music, the night-wind sigh-
ing through the trees beneath a star-gemmed
sky, the song of a solitary bulbul Avarbling
plaintively among the myitle and oleander
blooms, the plash of a fountain rippling
near with " a sound as of a hidden brook In
the leafy month of .Tune"; this, the exquis-
ite languor of the East, " for which the
speech of England has no name." the "Kaif "
of the Arab, the drowsy falseness of the
Lotos-eaters' ideal:

Death is the end of life; ah, why

Should life all labor be?

Let us alone." ^ aHW

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

And so the months went by, until nt Inst frlnRo of thorny shrubs grew along the edge
a band of emissaries, to the number of sev- of the cliff; at Intervals yawned deep fls-
enty, was appointed to take a journey \o sures, across which the wise little Arabian
Mecca for the purpose of meeting with Mo- ponhs stepped gingerly; and above, outlined
hammed and discuss-
ing with him the ad-
visability of his tak-
ing up his residence
at Medina.

A herald brought
news of this embassy
to the prophet. He
w^nt forth to meet
them, and Y u s u f ,
hearing by chance of
the appointed confer-
ence, set out post-
haste after Moham-
med's party, eager to
get even a pressiu-e
of the hand from
A m z i , his heart's
bj'other, who he felt
sure would accom-
pany the emissaries.
In order to overtake
them more quickly,
he proceeded with a
trusty guide by a
shorter route across
the hills.

The night was ex-
ceptionally dark, and
even the guide be-
came confused. The
way led on and on be-
tween the intermin-
able hills, until the
two in complete un-
certainty reined their
steeds on the verge of
a cliff that seemed to
overhang a deep and
narrow basin,

bounded by flinty rock which even in the
darkness loomed doubly black, and which
rang beneath the horses' feet with that pe-
culiar, metallic sound that proclaimed it
black basalt, the " hell-stone " of the Arabs.
' It was indeed an eerie spot. A thick

!■

" Hold!" cried a voice from the air above.— See page 34.

in intense black against the dark sky, were
numerous peaks and pinnacles and castel-
lated summits, such as the Arabs love to
people Avith all manner of genii and evil
spirits of the waste and silent wi'derness.
It was a spot likely to be infested with rob-

THE DAYS OF MO 1/ AM MED.

Ih'-

bers, and Yusuf und his axMc waited Jn
Bome tiepldutlon while coiiKldciliiK what
to do.

Presently a dull trampling Hounded In the
distance. It came nearer and nearer, and
the two lone wanderers on the cliff scarcely
dared to breathe.

The tread of camels was soon dlscernll)le.
the "Ikh! "Ikh!" (the soi nd used to malce
camels kneel) of the comel-drivers risinj?
from tlie dark pass below to the ears of tlie
men above. Apparently the party was about
to make a halt in the dark basin; and should
It prove to be a band of hill-robbers, Yusuf
and his companion were in a precarious po-
sition, for the slightest sound made by tljem
or their ponies would probai)iy prove the
signal for an onslaught; but by patting and
quieting the animals, they managed to keep
their restlessness in check and so waited,
scarcely knowing what to do next.

Ere ten minutes had elapsed, however, the
tread of camels was again heard, and an-
other party came in from the opposite direc-
tion, halting at the otiier end of the ravine.
A call was sounded and at once answered
by the body Immediately below. The new-
comers advanced, and mutual recognitions
seemed to take place, although Yusuf could
distinguish neither the voices nor the words.

The parties were, in reality, those of Mo-
hammed and the emissaries of Medina, who
at once opened negotiations. After the salu-
tations were over, they extended to Moham-
med a formal invitation to Medina.

" We will receive you as a confederate,
obey you as a leader, and defend you to the
last extremity, even as we defend our wives
and children," said the spokesman.

" For your gracious invitation accept my
mos^ hearty thanks," said Mohammed. " ^ly
work is not yet ended in Mecca, yet ere long
I hope to pay at least a visit to you, O be-
lievers of Medina."

" But," said the leader, " If you are re-
called to your own district you will not for-
sake us?"

"All things," replieu Mohammed, "are
now common between us. Your blood is my
blood. Your ruin is my ruin. We are

bound to each other by the ties of honor and
interest. I am your fr' ud and tlie enemy
of your foes."

He tlien chose twelve of the men to be the
esi)e('ial heralds of his faitli, and ail, plac-
ing tiieir iiands in ills, swore fealty to him
in life and in death.

" If we are killed in your service, wliat
siiall be our reward?" asked one of the num-
ber.

*' Paradise!" cried the prophet. ** Vales of
eternal rest and felicity, odors of sweet
spices on the air, blossed spirits to—"

"Holdl" cried a voice from the air above.
" Who are you, Mohammed, who can dare
to promise that which belongs to the Creator
alone? Impostor, take heed!"

It was only Yusuf, who, in his anxiety to
discover if the gloomy vale were Indeed the
nest of some daring mountain chief, had
noiselessly descended to an overhanging
ledge, and had heard the last confident as-
sertion of the prophet.

But the utmost consternation fell upon the
Arabs below. Some, believing the voice to
be that of a demon of the rock, were seized
with sudden panic; others shouted excitedly,
" Spies! spies!" and the assembly broke up
In confusion, all scurrying off, leaving Yusuf
and his guide again alone on the rock. ,

" Amzi! Amzi!" shouted the priest, with a
forlorn hope that his friend might have lin-
gered behind the fleeing party; but the only
response was the beat of hoofs flying in
eve '' direction, and the dull thud of the
can.'^ls' padded feet. There was notiiing
better to be done than wait until morning,
so Yusuf and the guide lay down on the
hard rock for the rest of the night. , ,, ,

For some time after this affairs seemed to
be at a standstill. Mohammed still con-
tinued to preach, now from the hill Safa,
now from the knoll El Aknba at the north of
the town.

His wife, Cadljah, had died some time be-
fore, and he had since married a widow,
Sawda, and become betrothed to a child,
Ayesha, the daughter of his friend and dis-
ciple, Abu Beker.

But events in Mecca were fast hastening

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

to a cHsIh. Abu Soflnn, stlM the most mortal
enemy to Mohammed ami hiH religion, had
succeeded Abu Tnh'l> in the government of
Mecca, and no sooner had he become head
of the Htate than he determined lO crUHh
Mohammed, and exterminate hlH religion at
any cost. A plot for the asHasslnatlon of the
prophet was formed. Several of the tribe
of the Korelsh and tiielr allies were ap-
pointed to kill Mohammed, In order to avert
the blood-revenjre of Mohammed's Immedi-
ate kin, the HaHchemltes, who, It was
thought, would not dare to avenge them-
Belves upon such numerous and such scat-
tered foes.

The attack was planned with the utmost
secrecy In the cellar of a house, and at a
time but the space of three hours before day-
break, when all Mecca lay chained In slum-
ber.

Yet not all. Abraham, the .lew, was, as
usual, on the alert. Since his escape he had
been prowling about the hills, penniless, and
hence unable to leave the district. He had
now come down to steal food, for necessity.
In his eyes, rendered any such proceeding
pardonable; and, perceiving a mysterious
light Issuing from a chink In the wall, his
natural curiosity asserted Itself. He lay
down flat on the ground, put his ear to the
chink, and succeeded In hearing every word
of the plot. ': ' " ' ■' ^

Here, then, was a chance to gain favor
and protection from at least a few In Mecca.
He would disclose the plot to Mohammed
and his vizier, and beseech their protection
as the price of his services as a savior of
the prophet's life. Accordingly, a couple of
hours before the time appointed for the
assassination, and as soon as the cover of
darkness rendered his own appearance in
the city safe, he hastened to the prophet.

No time was to be lost. Mohammed, ac-
companied by Abu Beker and the Jew, at
once fled; while All, to deceive the spies,
and keep them as long as possible In check,
wrapped himself In the prophet's green
cloak, moved round with it on for some
time, and at last lay down on Mohammed's
bed.

When the assassins entered. Intending to
rush upon the sleeping form and destroy It,
All threw the cloak off and sat np. In the
meantime tlie fugitives had reached the cave
of Thor, three iiilw's illstant, from whence,
after three days, they escaped to Medina.

This was the famous flight of the prophet,
the Hegira, or Hejra, in the year (»22 A. I),
and about the flfty-third year of Moham-
med's ugu.

* CHAPTER X.

MOHAMMED'S ENTRANCE INTO MEDINA.

Oh. It la excellent
To have u giunt's Htrengtb: but It Is tyraunous
To use it like a giant." —tihakeip«ar$.

NCB more after the
lapse of years let lis
look at Amzi as he
sat one morning In
his house at Medina.

The cool and pleas-
ant atmosphere of the
town In contrast with the
burning, breathless heat of
Mecca had charoaed him.
He had Immediately purchased a-^use and
furnished It with the luxmioufi -' splendor
which suited his rather voluptuou#« taste. '>:- '
The apartment In which he sat ^as In the
middle story, the one sacred to tliie men In
a house of Medina. Rich Persian carpets
were on the floor, rugs of Inde were scat-
tered about and piled with cushions filled
with softest down. Low divans Invited re-
pose, and heavy curtains of yellow silk shut
out the too brlgh'. glare of day. The celling,
after the Persian fashion, was Inlaid with
mirrors, fitted in In different patterns, and
divided by carved sticks of palm, stained
red; and the sweet odor of richest perfumes
of Arabia- Felix spread through the room as
If emanating from the silken hangings of
the wall.

The window was open, and the breeze
from the cast, bearing, as It were, tales of
the Nejd, the land of brave men and beautl-

-ft

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Sft-

£*v

ful women, swayed the curtains softly.
Outside, In the sloping garden, waved the
graceful branches of the tamarisk, glittering
with dew In the early morning sun; and
near the window a jujube tree stretched its
dark, shining leaves and yellow fruit tempt-
ingly near. Acacias with sweet-scented yel-
low blossoms, oleanders glowing with rosy
bloom and a thicket of silver-leaved castors
separated the little plot from the gardens
below, where grew gourds and cucumbers,
lime and fig trees, grape-vines, water-melons
and pomegranates; and beyond that lay a
bright patch of Bursim, or Egyptian clover,
like a yellow-green island on a darker sea.

Amzi, comfortably habited in a jubbeh of
pink silk, worn over a caftan of fine white
silk flowered with green and confined by a
fringed, yellow sash at the waist, reclined
in a position of luxurious ease at the win-
dow. Between his plump fingers he held the
amber stem of a handsomely carved pipe.
He looked scarcely older than when on that
memorable journey in which he first met
Yusuf. His eye was still as bright, his hair
scarcely more gray, and his cheek as ruddy
as tnen; yet there was a somewhat discon-
tented look on his face.

His eye wandered over the rich garden
before him, and he thought of barren, ashen
Mecca. Then he looked restlessly back over
the landscape below. Surely It was fair
enough to calm a restlesr, sp'rit.

Immediately before, and to the eastwuM,
the sun had risen out of a mass of lilac and
rose-colored cloud. The tufted trees on the
distant hills stood black and distinct against
the splendor of the sky. To the right the
date-groves of Kuba, famed tliroujrhoat
Arabia, struggled through a sea of mist
that piled and surged in waves of amber
Hiid purple, leaving the tree tops like islands
on a vapory sea. To the left the seared and
seorlre-covered crest of Mount Ohod rose,
dark and <»cowlJ'\g, like a grim sentinel on
the borders of an Elysian valley. In the
rear lay the plain of El Munakhah, and the
rush of the torrent El Sayh was borne on the
breeze, bearing the ,villing mind beyond to
the cool groves of Kuba, whence this raging

flood dispersed itself in gentle rills, or was
carried In ellent channels to turn the water-
wheels, or to fall, with musical plash, into
wooden troughs that lay deep in the shade.

The ripple of water,— ah, what it means to
Arabian ears! Little wonder that the inhab-
itant of tha desert land never omits It from
his idea of paradise, save in his conception
of the highest heaven,— a conception not
lacking in sublimity— that of a silent looking
upon the face of God.

In the immediate foreground lay El
Medina itself, with its narrow streets, its
busy bazars, its fair-skinned people, and its
low, yellow, flat-roofed houses, each with its
well and court-yard, nestling cozily among
the feathery-fronded date-trees.

From the Eastern Road, a caravan from
the Nejd was descending slowly into the
town, and so clear was the atmosphere that
Amzi could disting;ii8h the huge, white
dromedaries, and catch an occasional glint
of a green shugduf, or the gorgeous litter of
a grandee, trapped in scarlet and gold.

It was indeed a fair scene, and Amzi en-
joyed it to the full with the keen enjoyment
of one who possesses an esthetic tempera-
ment, an intense love of the beautiful. Yet
he began to feel lonely in this town of his
adoption. It was long since he had seen
Yusuf, and he commenced to thmk seriously
of returning for a time to Mecca. ,-;.,, -, . ,

Besides, he was tired of waiting;* for Mo-
hammed's long-deferred visit, and he was
anxious again to see the man whose strange
fascination over him he scarcely dared to
acknowledge even to himself. The empti-
ness .and idleness of his own life was begin-
ning to pall upon him, and he compared un-
favorably his sluggish existence with the
busy, quietly energetic way in which Yur if
was spending his days.

One source of unfailing pleasure to him
had been the companionshin of Dumah, who
had followed him to Medina, but was wan-
dering al)out as usual, returning to Amzi
when tired or hungry, as a birdling returns
to its mother's wing.

And Amzi had almost a mother's love for
the boy, for poor Dumah seemed a child

§!

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

still; he had grown but little, his face was
paler than of old, his eyes were as large and
blue, and his bright hair fell in the same
soft curls above his regular and clear-cut
features. Lilse Yusuf, Amzi felt that the
orphan's very helplessness was an appeal to
his heart, and he did not lock its doors.

Dumah now came in wearily. He lay down
at Am/i's feet and put his head on his knee.
The Meccan stroked his soft hair gently.

"Where has my Dumah been?" he asked
tenderly.

" Watching the people going out foolishly.
Dumah would not go with them." ,. i •

"Going where, lad?"

" Out to the gardens where the lotus blows,
and the date-palms wave, and the citron
and orange grow."

" And why go they, then, foolishly?"
smiled AmrJ.

" Because they go to meet him, and they
are carrying white robes, and they will bring
him in as a prince,— the wicked one, who
would place himself above our blessed Mas-
ter!"

Amzi started up quickly, and threw his
pipe down. . • . *■

" Is Mohammed here?" he cried.

" He is here. But you will not go too,
Amzi? Alas that I told you! The angels I
see in ray dreams do not smile, they look
away and vanish when I think of Moham-
med. Yusuf does not love him! Let not
Amzi!" pleaded the orphan.

But the Meccan was gone. Hastening on
towards the outskirts of the city, he met a
great crowd of people, pressing about Mo-
hammed and Abu Beker, eacli of whom was
dressed in a white garment, and riding tri-
umphantly upon a white camel, the prophet
being mounted on his own beast El Kaswa.

The little peddler, assigning himself a
lower place, rode behind on a pack-mule.

Mohammed had come, and was, from the
very beginning, a monarch, surrounded by
an army of blind devclees, believers in his
holy mission, and slavishly obedient to his
will.

Amzi took the prophet to his house, and
there entertained him as a respected Meccan

friend, until Mohammed's home was erected.
It was at Amzi's house, too, that the nup-
tials of Mohammed and the beautiful
Ayesha, also those of All and the prophet's
daughter Fntimah, took place.

One of Mohammed's first acts was to have
a mosque built, and, from it, morning and
night the call to prayers was given:

"God is great! There is no God but God!
Mohammed is the prophet of God! Come to
prayers. *Jome to prayers! God is great!"

And from this mosque Mohammed e.\-
horted with wondrous eloquence, the music
of his voice falling like a spell on the multi-
tudes, as they listened to teachings new and
more living than the old, dead, superstitious
idolatry to which they were in bondage; yet,
had they known it, teachings whose choicest
gems were but crumbs borrowed from the
words of One who had preached In all
meekness and love on the shores Oi Galilee
and the hills of Palestine more than six hun-
dred years before.

They listened in wonder to condemnation
of their belief in polytheism.

" In the name of the most merciful God,'*
Mohammetl would say, " say God i« one
God, the Eternal God; he begetteth not,
neither is he begotten, and there is not
anyone like unto him!" Thus did he aim
at the foundation of Christianity, seeking
to overthrow belief in the " only begotten
Son of God" as a divine factor of the
Trinity. Jesu« he recognized as a prophet,
not as God's own Son; and, while he bor-
rowed incessantly from the Scriptures, he
refused to accept them, declaring that they
had become perverted, and that the original
Koran was a volume of Paradise, from
which Gabriel rendered him transcripts, and
was, therefore, the true word of God which
had been laid from time everlasting on what
he called the " preserved table," close tt the
throne of God in the highest heaven.

And yet, during the greater part of his
career, the utterances of this strange, incom-
prehensible man were characterized by a
seemingly real glow of philanthropy and an
earnest solicitude for the salvation of his
countrymen from the deptns of moral and

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

m >

I-

spiritual degradation into which they had
fallen. A missionary spirit seemed to be in
him, in strange contrast and incompatibility
with the sacrilegious words that often fell
from hi« lips.

In all the records of history there is noth-
ing more wonderful than the marvelous suc-
cess which atten(ied Mohammed at Medina.
Staid and sober merchantmen, men with
gray heads, fiery youths, proselytes from the
tribes of the desert, even women, floelied to
him every day; and he soon realized that he
had a vast army of converts ready to live or
die for him, ready to fight for him until the
last.

Amzi, alone, of al! his followers, seemed to
stand aloof, half-believing, yet unwilling to
proclaim his belief openly; simply waiting,
as he had waited all his life, to see the truth,
yet too indolent to set out bravely In the
quest. He preferred to look on from aside;
to weigh and calculate motives, actions and
results; to judge men by their fruits, though
the doing so calle<l for long waiting.

Yet Amzl grew more and more dissatisfied.
He felt, though he Icnew not its cause, the
want of a rich spiritual life, that empty hol-
lowness which pleasures of the world and
the mere consciousness of a moral life can-
not satisfy. • ' I /

More than once he was tempted to declare
himself a follower of the prophet, but he put
it off until a riper season.

Poor Dumah noted Amzi's frequent visits
to the mosque with a vague dread. He had
an instinctive dislike '»f Mohammed, whose
assumptions of superiority to Jesus he un-
derstood in a hazy way, and resented with
all his might.

One day he entered with a tablet of soft
stone to which a cord was attached. Putting
the cord about Amzi's neck, he said:
^li* Amzi, promise your Dumah that you will
wear this always, will you not? Because
.Dumah might die, and could not say the
.words any more. Promise me!"

" I promise you," smiled Amzi, and Dumah
left the room contented.

Amzl turned the tablet over, and read the
familiar words traced upon the soft stone,—

the words recognized as the corner-stone of
Christianity:

" God so loved the world, that he gave his
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in him should not perish, but have everlast-
ing life."

Amzi smiled, and put the tablet in his
bosom. : », f , ,, . , !

' CHAPTER XI.

- - 1

... ,,■-■..--.■ .:-. - - t

MOHAMMED BECOMES INTOLERANT. —WAR.

"Our virtues disappear when put In competition
with our interests, aj rivers lose
themselves In the ocean. " —
La Hoc/t^oucauld.

HIRTEEN years had now
passed since RTohaiamed
first began to medit' +t i : lUe
Cave of Hira. During all that
time he had preached peace,
love and gentleness. With
power, however, came a
change in his opinions. He
became not only pastor of his
flock, and judge of the people, but also com-
mander of an army. Worldly ambition took
possession of his breast, and the voice of him
who had cried, " Follow the religion of
Abraham, who was orthodox and was no
Idolater. Invite men unto the way of the
Lord by wisdom and mild exhortation. . .
Bear opposition with patience, but thy pa-
tience shall not be practicable unless with
Cod's assistance. And be not thou grieved
on account of the unbelievers. Let there be
no violence in religion,"— now began to call,
" War is enjoined you against the infidels.
Fight therefore against the friends of Satan,
for the stratagem of Satan is weak. And
when the months wherein ye shall not be
allowed to attack them be past, kill the
idolaters wherever ye shall find them, and
besiege them, and lay wait for them In every
convenient place. Verily God hath pur-
chased of the true believers their souls and
their substance, promising them the enjoy-
tiient of Paradise on condition that they
tight for the cause of God. Whether they

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

slay or be slain, the promise for the same Is
assur<Mlly due by the law, and the Gospel,
and the Koran."

Clemency, he claimed, had been the In-
strument of Moses; wisdom, that of
Solomon; righteousness, that of Christ; and
now the sword was to be the instrument of
Mohammed. ,

"The sword," he exclaimed, with flashing
eye, " is the Icey of heaven and hell. All who
draw it in the cause of the faith will be re-
warded with temporal advantages; every
drop shed of their blood, every peril endured
by them, will be registered on high as more
meritorious than fasting or prayer. If they
fall in battle, their sins will at once be
blotted out, and they will be transported to
paradise!"

This fierce, intolerant spirit took possession
of Mohammed almost from his entrance
into Medina. Chapter after chapter of the
Koran was produced, breathing the same
blood-thirsty, Implacable hatred of oppo-
sition. Mohammed, in fact, seemed like one
possessed in his enthusiasm, but his doc-
trines caught the fancy of the wild, impres-
sionable Arabs, who flocked to him in
crowds as his fame spread throughout the
length and breadth of El Hejaz, throughout
the Nejd, and even to the extremities of Ara-
bia-Felix.

And now the bloody cloud of war hovered
over the peninsula, and the people trembled.

The following letter from Amzi will de-
scribe the outbreak.

From Amzi the Meccnn, at Medina,

To Yusuf the priest, Meccn.
My Dear Yusuf:—

I can scarcely describe the emotions with
which I write you again after a six mouths' in-
terval. Affairs here in Medina have talvon such
an unlooked-for turn that I scarcely know
what to think or what to do.

Of Mohammed's wonderful progress, yon
have, of course, heard. You should sve him
now, my dear Yusuf, — Mohammed, the peaceful

• The initial " A " Is placed nt the top of all Arabl'm
writings It Is the Initial of ••Allnh"and the flist
letter of the alphabet, and Is symbolic of the orlijln of
creation. '

trader, the devout hermit, new little less than
monarch, with all tlie sway assumed by the
most powerful despot; and yet those over whom
he wields his despotism are but too willing
servants, ready to say as he says, and to give
their dearest heart's blood in his cause.

Indeed I know not what the outcome of it all
will be. What astonishes me most is that Mo-
hammed has suddenly assumed an aggressive
attitude. Fire and the sword seem to be the
watchword of him whom we knew as the gentle
husband of Cadijah, the mild preacher who
bowed his head and reviled not oven when as-
sailed with mud and filth in the Caaba.

Needless to say, Yusuf. I am disappointed in
him. You will be only too glad to hear that. I
hear that you have been exhorting the people
in Mecca to pay no heed to him; that you have
been seeking to promulgate your Hebrew faith,
or rather the faith of your Hebrew friend, of
whose innocence and release I was glad to hear.

My brother, I pride in your courage, and in
the strength of your principles; yet, Yusuf, I
beseech of you, be careful what you do or say,
lest you draw down upon your head a storm of
fury which you little expect. You have no ulea
of the revolution of feeling here in Moham-
med's favor, and of the fanatic zeal of many
of his followers. Be not too bold. You cannot
cope single-handed with such an overwhelming
tide.

The past month, as you know, was the holy
month Radjab, in which, as in the month of
Ramadhan, throughout all El Hejaz. life
should be held sacred, and no act of violence
committed. Can you believe it when I tell you
that the prophet's men have attacked more
than one caravan of quiet traders and pilgrims
upon their way to or from Mecca? Such a
sacrilege seems unpardonable in Arab eyes, but,
forsooth, the prophet has l)een favored with an-
other revelation justifying him in what he has
done.

This, more than aught else, makes me won-
der. You, Yusuf, know what a lover of peace
I have been; how it has ever grieved me to see
even a butterfly fluttering along the ground
with a crushed wing, .Judge, then, of my hor-
ror, when I went out to the scene of the pillage
and saw men lying, some dead, with ghastly
faces glaring up at the hot sun, others with
gaping wounds, and others moaning pitifully
on the road-way, with sand on their faces and
in their hair. Yusuf, it made me sick to see it.
Had they been slnin in fnir battle I could have
borne it better. Yet I was enabled to give the
poor wounded creatures some water, all warm
as it was from being carried so long a distance;
and some of them I had conveyed to my house.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

li.

80 that every bed-chamber has been turned into
a sick-room, and your friend Amzi has been
suddenly metamorphosed into a sick-nurse.
Does that astonish youV

Yet, Yueuf, though I get little sleep any
night, and have to be on my feet much during
the day, I can assure you that I was never so
happy in my life before. The constant occupa-
tion, and the sense of being able to render the
poor creatures a little ease, is just what I ne<?d
at present to keep mo from growinjj moody.

The other day I saw some one who knows of
you — Uzza, the Oman Arab. How or why he
has come here I know not; but he is one of
Mohammed's most devoted followers. For your
sake, I hope you may not meet him in Medina.

I knew him, years ago, at Oman, and had let-
ters from him for a time after he went to Per-
sia. Perhaps that will read you the riddle as
to how I knew so much of your past history,
my priest. Recognizing your name, and not-
ing your priestly bearing, it was an easy matter
to connect you with the Guebre Yusuf, of
whom I had heard.

I am convinced that you are looking after my
Meccan affairs as ciosely Za possible, yet re-
member that Ani^.i has a house in Medina, too,
which has ever a door open for you.

Dumah sends , his love. The poor lad is
greatly excited over the stirring events which
are the talk of the town here.

Commend me to your friend Nathan and his
family. Trusting to see or to hear from you

soon, , - , And the peace,

Amzi.

To this letter Yusuf returned the following
answer:

Yusuf, at Mecca,

To Amzi the Benevolent, Medina.
My Heart's Brother:—

Your most welcome letter lies before me, and
it is quite unnecessary to say with what
mingled feelings of pleasure and pain I read it,
—pleasure, because, whether you will it or not,
your confidence in this false prophet is totter-
ing; pain, because of the marvelous power
which this Mohammed seems io be wielding
over your excitable Arab populace. Strange,
indeed, is his new attitude; we had not deemed
him possessed of a martial spirit; yet may we
hope that this procedure will be but as the
stone which shall crush his ends, falling upon
his own head.

It is possible that I may be in Medina ere
long. I am impatient to see you and our poor
Dumah again.

And so Uzza is there, too, to bring up afresh
the darkest page of my history; for Amzi, it
was I, in my fanatic zeal, who induced the
Persian grandmother to give up his child for
sacrifice. Scarcely was it over when, even in
my heathen darkness, my whole soul revolted
against what I had done, and against the faith
which had sanctioned such deeds of blood.
It was then that I began to think and strive
against the mists of darkness, until at last I
fought away from the creed of my country.

I fear not to meet Uzza, although I know
that he bears me no good-will, and would not
refrain from the assassin's knife did it satisfy
his wish for blood-revenge.

Our friend, Nathan, and his family are well.
Did I tell you that they have gone to live near
Tayf?

I spent a pleasant day with them not long
ago. They have a little cabin in the moun-
tains, and Nathan has a few flocks which he
herds out on the green hill-sides. They are all
so happy, and so contented with their pastoral
mode of living that they think of moving back
into Palestina, as the pasturage is better there.
It will be a long journey, but, with the con-
sciousness of the Father's care over them, and
the bond of love to shorten the way, they will
not mind it. Nathan's wife, in particular, is
anxious to return to her childhood's home, and
never wearies of telling her children stories of
her girlhood days, when she and her sister,
whom she still loves passionately, watched their
sheep on the hills of Hebron.

Mary and Manasseh have grown quite tall.
Manasseh is almost a man, fiery and impetuous
as ever, yet wise beyond his years, and a de-
vout Christian.

Nathan is very happy. After all his trials he
has perfect rest. His face almost beamed
when he stid to me in the words of the Psalm-
ist, " Unless the Lord had been my help, my
soul had almost dwelt in silence. When I said,
My foot slippeth, thy mercy, O Lord, held me
up. For the Lord is my defence, and my God
is the rock of my refuge."

He is very anxious about the hostile attitude
which Mohammed has taken. " God grant,"
he said, " that there may not be another season
of persecution. If there be, and the Lord will,
I shall stay at Medina to comfort, if I may, my
poor brethren there. * Blessed are they which
are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for
theirs is the kingdom of heaven.' God grant
that we may all be imbued with the spirit of
him who said, ' Love your enemies, bless them
that curse you. do good to them that hate you,
and pray for them that despitefully use you.'
Yet, Yusuf, it may be that we shall be forced

THE BAYS OF MOHAMMED.

to defend our lives, and those of our wives and
childreu,~(]}od knoweth. He will direct us, if
we permit him, so that, living or dying, it shall
be well with us."

Is not such love, such comfort in the help and
presence and sympathy of God, worth more, in-
finitely more, than power or wealth or worldly
pleasure? Nothing that happens can over-
whelm this happy family, for they have the
consciousness of God's love and care in all.
They have Jesus for a personal friend Amzi,
what would I not give to know that you felt
as they do, and as I learn to feel, more and
more, every day.

My friend, I could keep on in this strain for
the whole night; but I am weary, for to-day I
talked for many hours with some of those who
are half-apostatizing to Mohammed.

So, Mizpah; and may the blessing of God be
upon you. Yusuf.

CHAPTER XII.

WHEREIN THE BEDOUIN YOUt'H KEDAR
BECOMES A MOSLEM.

" Mine bonor is my life: both grow in one; ''''
Take honor from me, and my life is done."

— ahakespeare.

HE scene again opens
far to the north of
the Nejd, El Shark,
or the East. Into
one of its most fav-
ored spots, a green
and secluded valley,
surrounded by
grassy slopes, the
sun shone with the
fresh brightness of early morning, sending
floods of green-gold light through the leaves
of the acacias, now covered with yellowish
blossoms heavy with perfume.

By the side of a little torrent, rose the
Wack tents of a Bedouin encampment.
Flocks were on the hill-side, and the tinkling
of the camel-bells and soft bleat of the
lambs sounded faintly from the distance.

At the head of the valley, upon a rounded
boulder of granite sat a woman; and before
her stood a young man to whom she was
earnestly talking, at times stretching out her
hands aa though she were beseecLlng him
for some favor.

The woman was tall and well-built, her
eyes were large and dark, and their bril-
liancy increased, according to Bedouin cus-
tom, by the application of kohl to the lids.
Her face was keen and intelligent, and her
hair, braided in Innumerable small plaits,
and surmounted by a much bespangled
head-dress, was slightly streaked with gray.

The youth was slight and agile, his every
movement full of grace. His face was oval,
regular in its contour, and full of expression,
although the Jewish cast of his features had
traces of Arab blood. He seemed to be in
some excitement, for, with a trait peculiar
to Bedouins, his restless and deep-se' eyes
were now half-closed until but a narrow,
glittering line appeared, and now suddenly
opened to their fullest extent and turned
directly upon the woman to whom he talked.

" Would you have me branded among the
whole tribe as a coward, mother?" he was
saying. " Are not the Bedouin lads from all
over the Nejd flocking to the field, even as
the sparrows flock before the storm clouds
of the north? And will the son of Musa be
the craven, crouching at home in his
mother's nest?"

" A flock of vultures are they, rather!" she
cried passionately—" Vultures flocking to a
feast of blood, to gloat over the carrion of
brothers, son.*, and husbands, left dead on
the reeking plain, while in their solitary
iiomes the women moan, even as moans the
bird of the tamarisk, robbed of its young."

" 'Tis your Jewish heart speaks now,
mother. Ah, but your Jewish women are
too soft-hearted! Know you not that Be-
douin mothers have not only sent their sons
to battle, but have gone themselves and
fought in the thickest of the fray?"

" Ah, you are a true Bedouin, and ashamed
of your mother!" returned Lois, with a sigh.
" Truly, a Jewess has no place among the
tribes of the wilderness."

The youth's face softened. " I am not
ashamed of my mother!" he said, quickly.
" But my blood leaps for the glory of battle,
for the clash of cymbals, the speed of the
charge, the tumult, and the victory!"

" But a hollow glory you will find it," she

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

il'

said scornfully. " Murder and pillage,— and
all sanctioned in tlie name of religion!"

*' Even so, is not the name of harami (bri-
gand) accounted honorable among the desert
tribes?" asked the youth, quickly.

" Alas, yes. Ye reck not that it has been
said, * Thou shalt not steal.' But you,
Kedar, care not for the Jewish Scripture,
Why need I quote it to you I"

" Arabian religion, Arabian honor, for the
Arab, say I!" returned the youth haughtily.
" Let me roam over the wild on my steed,
racing with the breeze, lance in hand, bound
for the hunt or fray; let me swoop upon the
cowardly caravans whose hundreds shriek
and scream and fall back before a handful
of Bedouin lads, if I will. More honorable
it is to me than to plod along in a shugduf
on a long-legged camel with a bag of corn
or a trifle of cloth to look after. Be the Jew
if you will, but give me the leaping blood,
the soaring spirit of the Bedouin!"

The woman sighed again. " You will be
killed, Kedar," she said. "Then what will
all this profit you?"

*• To die on the field Is more glorious than
to breathe one's life out tamely in bed," re-
plied the other.

There was no use of reasoning with this
rash youth.

" And think you this Mohammed Is worthy
of your sacrifice?" she asked.

" If he be really inspired, as hundreds now
believe, is he not worthy of every sacrifice?
Does he not promise his followers an eternal
felicity?"

"A vile impostor!" exclaimed the woman
harshly. " Yet you will not believe what I
say, until your own eyes see and your own
ears hear! Go! Go! I shall talk no more to
you! If you fall it shall be no fault of Lois'!"

She arose and waved him off with an im-
patient gesture. Yet he lingered.

" You will forgive me, mother?" ne asked,
gently.

The woman's mother-heart welled to the
brim. She answered brokenly:

"My son, my son! Could I do aught else?
Take my blessing with you! And now, here
comes your father."

Musa was feebler than upon that first
night when he met Yusuf in his tent, and hi«
hair had become almost white, yet there
was the same dignity in his appearance.

" Go, Kedar," he said, " and prove that
you are indeed the son of Musa. Go, and
see that you bring back good news of
battle!"

Kedar bent his head in token of assent.

Before an hour had passed he was
mounted on the swiftest of his father's
horses— a short, fleshless animal, with legs
thin and of steel-like muscle. But its slen-
der neck, its small, snake-like head, its
dilating nostrils, through which the light
shone crimson, and its fiery, intelligent eye,
showed its blood as it pawed the ground and
neighed Impatiently. A noble animal and a
noble rider they looked as they were off like
an arrow, Kedar's fine figure swaying witli
the movement of the steed as though rider
and horse were one. ^ v :

All alone went the youth across hill and
valley, over rock and torrent, fearless and
swift as an eagle; for Kedar scorned to seek
the protection of numbers, although quite
aware of the fact that a large caravan,
under Abu Sofian, was even then on its way
from Syria to Mecca, and was within three
hours' journey from him.

y J''

CHAPTER Xin.

ABU SOFIA N'S CARAVAN.

HILE Kedar was
thus speeding
towards Medina,
the caravan was
also proceeding
more slowly
towards the
south. It c o n -
sisted of thirty
horsemen and
one thousand camels richly
laden with grain, with spices,
with purple of Syria, richest cloths of Da-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

_\ „

ninscus, and choicest perfumes of the nortli-
evn regions.

It was the month Rnmndhan, ind the
peaceful traders went confidently and se-
curely on their way, well pleased with the
success of their Journey and hopeful In an-
ticipation of the large gain they Avere to
make during the great bazar of the pilgrim-
age.

While thus proceeding leisurely on. the
leaders were somewhat surprised to see a
solitary rldor coming towards them In the
greatest haste. He was mounted on a swift
dromedary, and with head bent down
so that his turban concealed his face, he
kept striking the animal with his short
camel-stk'k and urging it on with his shrill
"Yfikh! Yftkh!"

All breathless he at last reached the cara-
van. " Is Abu Soflan here?" he cried.

" I am Abu Soflan," said the sturdy old
chief. " What do you desire of me?"

" I have been sent by Amzl the benevo-
lent," returned the other. " He bids me say
to Abu Soflan that it will be well for the
caravan to advance with the greatest cau-
tion, as Mohammed and his forces are in
ambush on the way."

" What guarantee have I," said Abu
Soflan, "that you are truly from Amzl the
Meccan, and not an emissary of Mohammed
sent to entrap us Into some narrow glen?"

" Here Is your guarantee," replied the
stranger, stretching forth his hand. " Recog-
nize you not this ring?"

" It is well," answered Abu Soflan, satis-
fied. " We are much beholden to you and to
our friend Amzl, who we had feared was
but too good a friend to this same Moham
med." .'i ."

"Can you trust Amzl?" asked one near,
anxiously.

" As my own soul," returned the leader.
"Amzl's heart Is gold; Amzl's words are
jewels of purest luster. He speaks truth.'
Then to the messenger, " Know you what
route Mohammed will take?"

" I know not. He has, doubtless, spies,
who will Info'-m him of your movements,
and thus enable him to act accordingly."

"Then It remains for us to meet him by
his own tactics," said Abu Soflan. " and no
time is to be lost. You, Omalr my faithful,
speed to Mecca with what dispatch you
may. Go by the by-paths which you know
so well. Tell Abu .7ahl, whom I have left
in charge, to send us help quickly."

Omair made obeisance and left at once.

" You, Akab and Zimmah." continued the
leader, "go by the hills ahead and find out
what you can. As for us. we will keep our
lips closed and our eyes and ears open. Abu
Sofian is not yet so old that he has forgotten
the signs of the wilderness." ^; '

'. he vast procession moved on again
slowly and in a dead silence, broken only by
the trampling of the beasts and the moans
of the camels.

Presently, on coming near a spot which
might be deemed hazardous ground. Abu
Soflan ordered a halt and went forward him-
self, alone and on foot. With eye on the
alert, ear on a tension to catch the slightest
sound, and body bent downward to facili-
tate the closest scrutiny of the ground, the
keen old man proceeded slowly, stepping
with cat-like precision and quietness.

Suddenly he uttered an exclamation. A
small object lay dark on the yellow sand.
He picked it up. It was a date-stone. He
examined it closely. It ;vas slightly smaller
than the stones of the ordinary fruit.

" A Medina datel" he exclaimed; " who-
ever has thrown it there!"

Going a few paces further, he found sev-
eral similar ones thrown by the wayside.
The trampling of the sand, too, showed
that a considerable force had been on the
road at no distant time.

He bent down again and directed his keen
scrutiny on the road, then retraced his steps
for a short distance. There were tracks
pointing in both directions, but at one x)olnt
the company seemed to have turned. 4-^?* .-i.a,

It was clear, then, that for some reason
the force had been ordered to turn and go
back for a distance, probably to await the
caravan In some ravine, and that they were
now not very far away. It was necessary,
then, to be as expeditious as possible.

mmm

THE DAYF OF MOHAMMED.

'•II'

He hastily returned and gave the order
that the route of the caravan be changed,
and that the party should cross over the
hills and proceed by a route close to the Red
Sea until the place of danger was left behind.

This was accordingly done, and the long
lines passed anxiously yet laboriously on-
ward over flinty summits, down steep and
rugged hillsides, past rocky clefts and ovtM*
barren desert spots peopled only by the
echoes that rang from the mountain sides,
until at last the sparkling waters of the Red
Sea lay below, and the anxious travelers felt
that, for the present at least, they were safe.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BATTLE OF BEDR. ' -•«* >

" A Prodigy of Fear, and a portent
Of broached mlacbief to the unborn times "

—Shakespeare.

HE afternoon was in-
tensely warm. Al-
though the heat of the
day was past, the houses
«f Mecca seemed to bake
in the sun, the sand burned
like a furnace, and a visi-
ble, shimmering heat
seemed to fill the air. Nev-
ertheless the ceremonies of
Tawaf and the ablutions of Zem-Zem went
on unceasingly, for it was the month of Ram-
adhan, and the half-naked pilgrims, with
their scanty white garments, shaven heads,
and bare feet, kept up the perpetual prom-
enade about the temple, ev^n when so hot as
to be ready to drop of exhaustion. The
courtyard was crowded with people, the car-
riers of Zem-Zem water were in constant de-
mand, and, in the cooler recesses of the cov-
ered portico around the great yard, a hum-
ming trade went on, the venders' cries ris-
ing above the prayers of the pilgrims.

Such was the scene upon which Omair sud-
denly staggered, all breathless, with haggard
face, turban awry, and thin wisps of hair
streaming in wet hanks over his brow. ^

" Where is Abu Jahl?" he cried, gasping.

" Why, what is wrong? Tell us!" cried the
curious crowd in some consternation.
" Where is Abu Soflan? Where is the cara-
van? Why have you come alone?"

" Send me Abu Jahl!" was his only reply.

The old man happened to be at the Caaba,
and came anxiously at the unexpected sum-
mons.

"Omair!" he exclaimed. "Allah! What
has happened?"

" Send them help!" gasped Omair. " Send
them help at once, or not one in our fair
caravan may escape! Mohammed is lying in
wait for them in the mountain passes."

" May Allah have mercy !" ejaculated the
old man; and the crowd a1)out shrieked and
groaned.

" Bring me the stair!" called Abu Jahl.
" Place it close to the Caaba!"

This done, he ascended to the roof where
all might see him. His snowy beard de-
scended to his waist over his flowing gar-
ments, and his white locks fell thinly from
beneath his kuflyah.

Silence fell upon the assembly below, and
from every street men came hurrying in to
hear the strange tidings.

" In the name of Allah, hear!" called Abu
Jahl in loud tones. " Ye of the tribe of Kore-
ish, hear! Ye who love Abu Soflar, hear!
Ye who have friends or goods in the great
caravan from Syria, hear! Ye above whom
the arch-impostor, Mohammed, aspires, and
whom he would fain crush beneath his feet
as the vile serpent in the dust, hear! He
hath beset our friends in the fastnesses of
the mountains. He swoopeth upon them as
the eagle upon the defenceless lamb out of
the fold! Who, then, among you, will follow
Abu Jahl to deliver them?" ' '

An approving murmur rose, long and loud;
then a hush fell as the aged man continued,
appealing to the courage of his hearers:

"Ye who fear not the foul rebel's sword,
ye who would uphold the honor of your
wives and little ones, nor send your children
out upon the world as the offspring of cow-
ards, beseech your gods for blessing, then
mount, and meet me as soon as may be out-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

"45

side the temple gates. In tbe name of Allah,
good-speed!"

A shout of assent arose. The thoroughly
excited multitude swayed and surged like
the waves of the sea. Hundreds hurried
off to do the behest
of their leader,
and, returning, has-
tened to perform
Tawaf about the
Caaba before setting
out on their peril-
ous Journey.

Yusuf, as a Chris-
tian, dared not enter
the temple; but he
heard the news
from without. His
heart was moved
with compas.slon for
the poor, defenceless
traders, caugiit like
mice in a trap, and
he decided to fall
into the ranks of the
rescue party, intend-
ing. If his life were
spared, to pay a
visit to Amzi, at
Medina.

While the recruits
were gathering,
Henda, the wife of
Abu Sofian, rushed
up, her face wild
and haggard with
terror, her long
black hair stream-
ing on the wind, her
eyes flashing with
excitement, and her
lips drawn back, ex-
posing her yellow,
fang-like teeth. A

tigress she looked in her fury, and It was
with difficulty that Abu Jahl prevented her
from going with the expedition, which. In
the cooler shades of evening, started off at a
rapid pace, leaving her to nurse her ven-
geance until a later day. ' f^-?^ f'-

Hurried, yet long and tedious, was the
Journey, and the anxiety and impatience of
the volunteers made it seem almost inter-
minable.

At length news was brought of the safety

The youth made a quick lunge, piercing the priest's shoulder.— See page 46.

of the caravan, and of its deviation towards
the sea. But the blood of the Meccans was
up, and the fiery old leader was determined
to punish Mohammed for his misconduct,
and thus, perhaps, prevent him from com-
mitting similar atrocities in the future. Ac-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

■'I'

cordlngly he sent pnrt of his troops for pro-
tection to the enravan, and commanded the
rest, ahout nine hundred In number, to push
on; and among those ordered forward to the
field was Yusuf.

Mohammed, with three hundred and thir-
teen soldiers, mounted chiefly on camels, re-
ceived word of this advance. His men were
lying between Medina and the sea, and, as
he thought, directly between the caravan
and Abu Jahl's army. He told his men to be
of good cheer, as Allah had promised them
an easy victory; yet he was careful to omit
no human menus of securing an advantage.
He posted his troops beside the brook Bedr,
and had them hastily throw up an entrench-
ment to cover the flank of his troops. Then,
sure of a constant supply of water, and safe
from fear of surprise, he awaited the Mec-
can army.

He himself ascended a little eminence,
accompanied only by Abu Beker, and. In a
small hut made of branches, he prayed for
the assistance of three thousand angels. In
his excitement, one of his old paroxysms
came on, but this was regarded as auspicious
by his men, to whom, superstitious as they
were, every occurrence of this kind was an
additional presage of victory and an ad-
ditional spur to bravery in battle.

And now the opposing force appeared,
coming down the opposite hill, the men hot,
weary, and covered with dust.

After a preliminary skirmish between in-
dividual combatants, the battle began,--not
a systematic charge in close ranks, not the
disciplined attack of trained warriors, but a
wild m§16e of camels, horses, flashing
scimitars, gleaming daggers and plunging
spears, in the midst of clouds of dust and
streaming scarfs.

The combat was long, and at one time the
party of Mohammed seemed to waver. The
prophet rushed out, threw a handful of
dust into the air and exclaimed:

" May confusion light upon their faces!
Charge, ye faithful! charge for Allah and his
prophet!"

-: Nothing could withstand the wild dash
made by his men. Filled with the passion

of enthusiasm, the zeal of fanatics, and the
conrtdence of succesw, they bore down like
madmen. The Korelsh, many of whom were
fearful of encliantment by the prophet, were
seized with sudden panic. In vain Abu Jahl
tried to rally them. He was torn from his
horse by a savage Moslem, and his head
severed from his body. His troops fled In
teiTor, leaving seventy men dead on the field
and seventy prisoners.

The bodies and prisoners were robbed, and
the spoil divided. Mohammed, in order to
avert dispute over the booty, very con-
veniently had a revelation at the time,—
" Know that whenever ye gain any spoil,
a fifth part thereof belongetli unto God,
and to the apostle, and to his kindred,
and the orphans, and the poor, and the
traveler."

Upon this occasion he claimed a considera-
ble amount of silver, and a sword, Dhu'l
Pakar (or the Piercer), which he carried in
every subsequent battle.

During the battle, Yusuf, the priest, had
fought bravely. Mounted on a magnificent
horse, his commanding figure had marked
him out as an object worthy of attack. Ac-
cordingly he was ever In the thickest of the
fight. With cool and calm determination
his blows fell, until suddenly an event oc-
curred which completely unmanned him, and
gave his enemies the advantage.

Among the opponents who singled him
out for attack was a youth mounted on a
Iiorpe of equal power and agility. The youth
was rather slight, but his skill in thrusting
and In averting strokes, and his evidence of
practice in every exercise of the lance, ren-
dered him a fitting adversary for the priest
with his superior strength.

For some time their combat had gone on
single-handed, when the youth's head-dress
falling off revealed a face strikingly familiar
to Yusuf. It was Manasseh's own face, pole,
and with clots of blood upon it!

The priest was horror-stricken. He fore-
bore to thrust, and the youth, seizing the op-
portunity, made a quick lunge, piercing the
priest's shoulder, and fellinp: him to the
ground. A new opponent came and engaged

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

the youth's attention; the panic fell, and the
priest, st't'lnn that It was useless to remain,
managed to mount and ride off after the re-
treat ing troops.

Scarcely Injured, yet covered with blood,
he dismounted at Amzl's door In Medina.

" Ydsuf ! My brother!" cried the Meccau
In astonishment, " what means this?"

In a few words Yusuf told the tale of the
battle, and Amzl placed him comfortably
upon a soft couch, Insisting upon ministering
to him as though he had been severely
wounded.

** So, Yusuf the gentle too has become a
setker of man's blood!' he said. "Verily.
\Nhat an effect hath this degenerate age!"

*• Believe me, friend," returned the other,
earnestly, " you too would have gone had
you been In Mecca and had heard of our poor
friends, all unarmed, and apparently In the
power of the enemy, ^^'hen the advance to
Bedr was ordered, I was one under authority,
and had no choice but to submit, though I
had little enough love for the stench of
blood."

" Yet," returned Amzl, " Yusuf's life In too
precious to be risked in such madness. It Is
not necessary for him to court death; for the
tluic may soon come when he shall be forced
to fight In self-defence. Till then, let foolish
youths dash to the lance's point if they will."

Yusuf bowed his head, and In a low tone
replied: " ' O God, the Lord, the strength of
my salvation, thou hast covered my head In
the day of battle. He hath delivered my soul
in peace from the battle that was against
me. Yea, though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for thou art with me. He that dwelleth in
the secret place of the Most High shall abide
under the shadow of the Almighty. I. will
say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my
fortress: my God; in him will I trust.' Arazi,
whether In life or in death, it shall be as he
wills."

Amzl looked at him curiously. "Yusuf,"
he said, " is there no extremity of your life
in which your religion fails to give you com-
fort? It seems to furnish you with words
befitting every occasion."

" Comfort in every hour of need," returned
Yusuf, " deliverance In every liour of temp-
tation, Is our God able to bewtow If we seek
him In spirit and In truth. Tldngs temporal,
as well as things spiritual, call for his al-
mighty love and attention; and our love for
him brightens every pjithway in life. It is
the knowledge of this which has upheld his
children In all the ages;— not one of them
who has not gloried in feeling that * God Is
our refuge and strength, a very present help
In time of trouble. Therefore will we not
feur though the earth be removed, and
though the mountains be carried Into the
midst of tlie sea.' Not one of them but has
at some time found comfort In the promises,
' Whe'j the poor and the needy seek water,
and there is none, and their tongue falleth
for thirst, I the Lord will hear them; I, the
God of Israel, will not forsake them. He
that keepeth Israel slumbers not. nor sleeps.
Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not
dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen
tliee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold
thee with the right hand of my righteous-
ness.' Think of this help, Amzl, in every
struggle; in the struggle, worse than any
time of battle, with one's own sinful heart.
And there is not one of God's children but
has realized the blessedness of following the
commands of Jesus, ' Have faith in God.
Ask. and It shall be given you; seek, and ye
shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto
you.' Amzl, you who love gentleness and
peace, truth and humility, cannot you find in
Christ and his loving precepts all you would
ask? Can anything appeal to your warm
heart more than such injunctions as
these?—' Love your enemies, bless them that
curse you, do good to them that hate you,
and pray for them that despitefully use you
and persecute you. When thou doest alms,
let not thy left hand know what thy right
hand doeth. Let your light so shine before
men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
Judge not, that ye be not judged. Watch ye,
therefore, and pray always. Pray that ye
enter not Into temiitatlon.' "

He paused, out of breath; for such had

^ THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

been his study of the Scriptures that the ami the curtain (or * Klswah ') oorreHi)ondln«

words came In a flood to his lli>8. to the veil of the tabernacle. This Haiue

Amzl sighed. " Yes, Yusuf," he said, Caaba may trace Its orli^in In some dim way

"such words seem to me full of goodness to the ancient tabernacle, of which. In this

and sweetness; yet, try as I may, I cannot land, the significance must have become lost

realize their true Import. I cannot rejoice, In the centuries during which the Ishmaellt-

aH you and your friends do, in your religion ish race forgot the true worship of God."

and Its promises." " And what think you of the course which

•'My Amzl," returned the priest, "how affairs are now talting in Arabia?" asked
can you be warmed except you come to the Amzl. " You believe In the supervision of
flre? Remember the man with the withered God; why, then, does he permit such out-
hand. Did he not stretch it out in faith? breaks as the present one is proving to be?"
My friend, like him, act! Reach out your " I certainly believe that the Creator sees

heart to God. He will not fall you. Look
not upon yourself. Look upon God, who Is
indeed, closer to you than you can imagine.
Put your hand In his, behold his love mani-
fested to us In the coming of his dear Son,
and feel that that love is to-day the same,
proceeding from the Father in whom is ' no
variableness, neither shadow of turning.' "

Amzl sighed. " Yusuf," he said, "it ap-
pears all dfrk. Impenetrable, to me. A wall
of adamant seems to stand between me and
God. Pray for me, friend. In this matter
I fear I am heartless."!. ; ;v i r

In spite of this assertion, there was genu-
ine concern In the tone, and the priest's face
flushed In the glad light of hope.

" Amzl," he exclaimed, " my hope for you

and knows all things. I believe, too, that
even to Mohammed, at one time In his life,
the Holy Spirit appealed, as he did to me,
and, I hope, does now to you, Amzl,— for hla
pleadings come sometime to all men; but, I
tlilnk that If In earnest at first. Mohammed
—if, Indeed, he be not a monomaniac on the
subject of his divine calling— has given him-
self up to the wild Indulgence of his am-
bition, forgetting Him whose powe 's able
to direct us all aright. Hence, uides

himself, rather than seeks to be gu.-^v«, and,
In such a case, he may sometimes be allowed
to go on In his own way, bearing with hira
those who are so foolish as to aecept his
teaching. Something of this kind may, in-
deed, be one of the secrets of the crimes and

increases. Even now, you begin to realize calamities which enter Into many human

your own self: It remains for you to realize
God's self. Know God— would I could burn
that upon your heart! All else would be
made plain." .:;;^is :m i ;

Amzl sighed again. For a time he sat in
silence, then he said:

" I have been reading of the tabernacle,
and of the sacrifices therein."

" Typical of the death of Christ," returned
Yusuf. "A constant emblem of that mind
which was, and Is to-day, ready to suffer,
that we may understand Its Infinite love."

" Strange, strange!" said Amzi, musingly.
Then after a long silence: " Yusuf, have
you ever noted the resemblance of the
Caaba to the reputed appearance of the tab-
ernacle?"

"The resemblance struck me from the first
glance — the courtyard, the temple itself.

lives. God leaves us free to choose. When
we come to know him we choose to be his
followers. If we are Indifferent to him, he
may, at times, look on without Interfering .
in our lives except to send us occasionally
great trouble, or great joy, as an appeal to
us. His mercy is great. He pities and
pleads with us, yet he leaves us free."

" And what, think you, will be the effect
upon Arabia of this rising?"

Yusuf shook his head. " I know not," he
said. " We cannot see now, nor mayhap
until ages have rolled by; but ' at eventide it
shall be light.' "

So talked Amzi and the priest until the
gray dawn shone in, and the voice of Bilal.
the muezzin, was heard calling from the
mosque:

" God is great! There is no God but God I

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Mohammod Is tho prophet of Godi Come ^o
prnyerH! (JoU is great!" , ,. . .

'II' J

i.i.' '

CHAPTER XV.

THE PERSECUTION BEGINS.

" In doing good we are generally cold and
languid and slu/glsh. . . Out the works of
Malice and Injustice are quite in another
Htylft "—Burke.

MONO those left
dead on the field
of Bedr were the
father, uncle and
brother of Henda.
the wife of Abu
Soflan. Fierce
' y ' and savage as
was her nature, she was yet
capable of deep feeling, and
her love for her kindred
was one of the ruling pas 'ons of her life.

When the caravan at 1 .st reached Mecca
in safety, she rushed to meet Abu Soflan,
weeping wildly, wringing her hands in grief,
and throwing dust on her long hair. She
besought him frantically to avenge their
death, and he, knowing that the debt of
" blood revenge " was now upon him, and
that blood alone would wipe the stain from
his honor, gathered two hundred swift
horsemen and set out almost immediately
for Medina.

On the way he ravaged the whole country,
burning the villages and date-groves of
Mohammed's followers.

When within three miles of Medina the
prophet sallied out to meet him. A brief
contest took place, and Abu Soflan was once
more defeated in what was Jestingly called
the Battle of the Meal Sacks.

The Moslems were exultant over their suc-
cess, but Abu Soflan returned to Mecca, the
blood-dues still unpaid, and with bitter
enmity gnawing at his heart.

In the meantime Mohammed began to as-
sume all the airs of an independent sov-
ereign. He married a beautiful maiden,
Hafza, to whom he entrusted the care of the
Koran, according as it was revealed; and

shortly afterwardu he issued a decree by
whicii all true believers were ordered to face
Mecca when praying. Tlnrn early in Ills
career of coiKjut'st lie had fixed upon Mecca
as the future holy city of the Moslems. As
usual, the Koran was called in to authorize
him in thus fl.xing the Kebia, or point of
I)rayer.

" Unto God belongeth the East and the
West. He directeth whom he pleaseth in
tiie riglit way. Turn, tiierefore, thy face
towards the lioly temple of Mecca; and
wiierever ye be, turn your faces towards
that place." • ' . ^ ^

At tills time also he sanctioned the retain-
ing of file iioly fast of Ramadhan and the
pilgrimages connected tlierewith. As ho
was well aware that the doing away with
tiie great bazar upon which the pro.sperlty
of Mecca so largely depended would loose a
host of enemies upon him, he declared:

" O true believers, a fast is ordained you,
as it was ordained unto them before you,
tliat ye may fear God. The month of
Ramadlian siiall ye fast, in which the Koran
was sent down from heaven, a direction
unto men." *!'" ' • i? '' ' ;?.'•« ^nr,:

Henceforth, during the fast, all true be-
lievers were to abstain from eating or drink-
ing, and from all eartlily pleasures, while
the sun shone above the horizon and until
the lamps at the mosques were lighted by
the Imaums. It is needless to say that the
Moslems obviated this seif-sacriflce by
sleeping during the day as much as possible,
giving the night up to all the proscribed in-
dulgences of the interdicted season.

And now Mohammed's hatred to the Jews
began to show itself, and the awful per»«i-
cution of the little Jewish band in Medina
commenced.

Poor Dumah was one of the first to bring
the rod of wrath upon himself. When wan-
dering down the street one day, not very
long after the Battle of Bedr, he paused by
a well, just as Mohammed, accompanied by
his faithful Zeid, appeared in the way.
Dumah saw them and at once began to sing
his thoughts in a wild, irregular lament. His
voice was peculiarly sweet and clear, and

mmaammmm

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

every word reached the ear of the enraged
prophet. Tlie song was a weird lameut
over those slain at Bedr:

" They are falleu, the good are faller.
Low in the duHt they are fallea;
Ar 1 their hair is steeped in blood:
Fui the poison-wind shiicku above them,
Sighing anon like th>) cushat.
And breathing its curses upon him.
Upon him. the chief of impostors.
As be passes the leaflets tremble.
Au'i the flowers shrink from his pathway;
And the angels smile no^ upon him,
For be mi;keth the widow and orphan;
And the voice of l^achel riseth
In mourning loud for her children.
And no comfort doth fall upon her,
Soft like the balm of Gilead.''

Turning to one of his followers, Moham-
med commanded angrily:

" Seize that singer!"

Dumah heard the exclaination, and was
oflF lilje the wind, followed by two or three
Moslems, each anxious to secure the victim
first, and thus win the approval of the
august Mohammed.

On, on, straight to the house of Amzi fled
Dumah. Bursting oi-u the door, he rushed
in, his long hair disordered, his face purple
with running and his eyes wide with terror.

" Save me, Yusuf ! Save me, Amzi!" he
crieu. " Mohammed will kill me! Moham-
med will kill me!"

Yusuf sprang to the door, and the poor
fugitive threw himself at Amzi's feet,
clinging to his garments with his thin,
white hands.

But the pursuers were already upon him.
Yusuf strove in vain to detain them, to rea-
son with them.

" Can you not see he is a poor artless lad?
Can you not have mercy?" he cried.

"It is the order of the prophet of Allah!"
was the response.

Yusuf resisted their entrance with all his
might, but, unarmed as he was, he was
quickly thrown down, and the terrified
Dumah was dragged over his body and hur-
ried off to be put in chains in a Moslem cell.

Amzi was distracted. There seemed little
hope for Dumah. The small .Jewish band
then in Medina co-ild not dare to cope with
the overwheluil:^'' numbers of Moslems that

swarmed in the streets. If Dumah were
delivered It must be by stratagem; and yet
what stratagem could be employed?

Early in the evening Amzi and the priest
withdrew to the roof for consultation.

" You believe that your God is all-power-
ful—why do you not beseech him for our
poor lad's safety?" cried Amzi passionately.

" I have not ceased to do so since his cap-
ture," returned Yusuf. " But it must be as
the Lord willeth. He sees what is best.
Even our blessed Jesus said to the Father,
' Not my will, but tliine be done.' ''

Amzi was not satisfied. " Can Le then be
the God of Love that you say, if he could
look upon the death of that poor innocent
nor exercise his power to save him?"

" Amzi, I do not wonder at yo:' for speak-
ing thus. Yet consider. We will hope the
best for our poor singer. May God preserve
him and enable us, as instruments in his
hands, to deliver him. But God may see
Uifferently from us in this matter. Who can
say that to die would not be gain tc poor
Dumah? All witless as he is, he shall have
a perfect mind and a perfect body in the
bright hereafter. We know not what Is well.
We can only pray and do all in our power
to effect his deliverance; we must leave the
issue to God."

Amzi bowed his head on his hands and
groaned. Yusuf raised his eyes towards
heaven; the tears rolled down his cheeks,
and his lips moved. Even he could not un-
derstand the mysteries of this r^range time.
Yet he was constantly comforted In knowing
that " all things work together for good to
them that love God."

Saddest of all was the vision of the hand-
some, dark face that, contorted in the fury
of combat, had glared upon him from the
Moslem ranks in the Battle of Bedr, while
Manasseh's hand showered blows upon the
head of his best friend— for the sake of the
prophet of Islam. i;a< vj' n> /

"Manasseh! Manasseh!" he exclaimed in
bitter sadness. " Why hast thou forsaken
thy father's God? O heavenly Father, do
thou guide him and lead him again into thy
paths I''

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

CHAPTER XVI.

AMZI FINALLY REJECTS MOHAMMED.

" ' Do the duty which lies nearest thee ' which thou
knowest to be a duty ! Thy second duty will already
have become clearer."— Car/y/«, " Hartor Besartiu."

PON the following
morning Yusuf
hastened to obtain
an Interview with
Mohammed. The
prophet lived in an
ostentatiously luim-
ble abode — a low,
broad building,
roofed with date-
sticks, and thatched with the broad leaves of
the palm tree.

Mohammed absolutely refused to see him.
Ayesha, the youngest and fairest of the
prophet's wives, sent to inform him that Mo-
hammed had nothing to say to the Christian
Yusuf. So with heavy heart he turned away
and sought the house of Zeld, deeming that
he, as the prophet's adopted son and most
devoted follower, might have some influence
in obtaining Dumah's release.

Zeld sat in a low, airy apartment, through
whose many open windows a cool breeze
entered. By him sat his newly-wedded wife,
unveilec^. for at that time the rules In regard
to veiling were not so strictly insisted upon
as at a later day, when the prophet's decree
against the unveiling of women was more
rigorously enforced.

Even Yusuf noted her marvelous beauty.
There was a peculiarity of action, a some-
thing familiar about her, too, which gave
him a hazy recollection of having seen her
before; but not lor several moments did the
association come up in his memory, and he
saw again the little .Ie\vI^5h home of Nathan
in Mecca, the dim light, and the beautiful
child whose temples Nathan's wife was so
tenderly bathing. Yen, after the lapse of
years, in a i^nsh he knew her for Zeinab!

She listened with interest to the tale of
the Jewish singer; but tliere was a heart-
lessness in her air, and a certain contempt
in the look which she ben^ upon the Chris-

tian who was tlius making intercession for
an unworthy Jew. • ' ' ■ : '

" 1 have neither eyes to see, tongue to
speak, nor hands to act, save as the prophet
is pleased to direct mo." was Zeld's reply, in
the most determined tone. '

Yusuf, seeing no lioi)e, left the house, and
shortly afterwards Zeid. too, went down
into the town. Scarcely had he left when
Mohammed entered.

Zeinab was still at the window, which
opened directly on the courtyard. A myrtle
bush grew near, and she listlessly plucked
some of the white blossoms and twined
them in the braids of her glossy black hair.
She wore a loose gown of sky-blue silk with
a drape of crimson, and deep pointed sleeves
of filmy, white lace. Her veil was cast
aside, and when the prophet entered she
turned her magnificent dark eyes, with their
shading of kohl, full upon him.

Ever susceptible to the infiuence of beauty,
he exclaimed, " Praise be God, who turneth
the hearts of men as he pleaseth!" And he
at once coveted her for his wife; although
according to law she bore the relation of
daughter to him.

He intimated his desire to All, who, in
turn, broke the news to Zeid. Zeid returned
pale and trembling to his home. He lovel his
wife deeply; yet his devotion to the prophet
and the sense of obligation which he owed
him as foster-father, for having free<l him
from servitude, appealed to him strongly.
Bowing his head upon his wife's knee, he
wept. ' ■ '.i .'■..' '■■"'■■^ ■'■'•''• '■'."'■ ^'■'

" Why do you weep, Zeld?" she asked.

" Alas!" he cried, " t»ould one who has
ki'own thee as wife forbear to weep at hav-
hig thee leave hira?" ' '

" But I will never leave my Zeid."

" Not even to become the wife of the
propiict?"

" Mohammed does not want me for his
wife." she said quickly.

Zeid sighed. " Could you be happy were
you his wife?" he aslced.

The beauty's ambitious si>irit ro«e, but she
only said: " Wore T made his wife, It would
be the will of Allah."

TEE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Zeld pushed her gently from him, and went
out. " Mohammed," he said, seating himself
at the prophet's feet, " you care for Zeinab
I come to offer her to you. Obtain for yc i
poor Zeld a writ of divorce."

The prophet's face showed his satis-
faction. " I could never accept such a sac-
rifice," he said, hesitatingly.

" My life, my all, even to my beloved wife,
belongs to my master," returned Zeid. " His
pleasure stands to me before aught else."

"So be it, then, most faithful," said the
prophet. " O Zeid, my more than son, a
glorious reward is withheld for you." ; ..,,

Then, as ever, a revelation of the Koran
came seasonably ere another day, to remove
every impediment to the imion of Moham-
med and Zeinab. i> ' rl

" But when Zeid had determined the mat-
ter concerning her, and had resolved to
divorce her, we joined her in marriage unto
thee, lest a crime should be charged on the
true believers in marrying the wives of their
adopted sons: and the command of God is to
be performed. No crime is to be charged on
the prophet as to what God hath allowed
him." ■:,*,( r-. : ^:S.-K^

There were those in Medina who resented
Mohammed's selfishness in thus appropriat-
ing Zeinab to himself, and there were those
who questioned the honor of such a proceed-
ing; but this questioning went on mostly
among the few Bedouin adherents who had
flocked into the town in his service, for the
most sacred oath of the highest class of
Bedouins has long been, " By the honor of
my women!"

In none did the prophet's action inspire
more disgust than In our two friends, Yusuf
and Amzi. Amzi had long since lost all faith
In the prophet as a divine representative;
and this marriage Avith Zeihab only con-
firmed his distrust.

" rah!" he said to Yusuf, " he not only lets
his own impulses sway him, but he uses the
sanction of heaven to authorize the satisfac-
tion of every desire, no matter who is
trampled upon in the proceeding. Was there
ever such sacrilege?"

Yusuf returned: " For this I am thankful.

brother: that you at last apply the term
' sacrilege ' to the claims of this impostor."

" Think you he is no longer in earnest at
all for the raising of his countrymen from
Idolatry?" ^ ' '

" He seeks to throw down idols, but to
raise himself in their stead. Cupidity and
ambition, Amzi, have well-nigh smothered
every struggling seed of good in Moham-
med's haughty bosom." ,

" Do you not think that, at the beginning,
he imagined himself inspired?"

" Mohammed is strangely visionary. At
the beginning he, doubtless, thought he saw
visions, but, if the man thinks himself in-
spired now, he is mad."

" Yet what a personality he has!" said
Amzi, musingly. " What a charm he bears!
How his least word is suflicient to move this
crowd of howling fanatics!"

" A man who might be an angel of light,
were he truly under divine guidance," re-
turned Yusuf. " And, mark me, Amzi, his
influence will not stop with this generation.
The influence of every man on God's earth
goes on ever-rolling, ever-unceasing, down
the long tide of eternity; but, in every age,
there are those who, like Mohammed, pos-
sess such an individuality, such a per-
sonality, that their power goes on increasing,
crashing like the avalanche down my n;itlve
mountains."

" How eloquently such a thought appeals
to right impulse, right action!" said Amzi,
thoughtfully. " Did a man realize its import
fully, he would surely be spurred on to act,
not to sit idly letting the world drift by."

" ' No man liveth unto himself,' " said
Yusuf slowly. " Whether we will it or not,
we are each of us ever exerting some influ-
ence for good or for ill upon those with whom
we come in contact. No ore can be neutral.
Acts often speak in thunder-tones, when
mere words are heard but in whispers." H-v

" I fear me, Yusuf," said the Meccan, with
a half-smile, " that Amzi has neither thun-
dered in action, nor even whispered in
words. So little good has he done, that he al-
most hates to think of your great influence
theory."

TEE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

Ynsuf smiled and slipped his arm about
the Meccan's shoulder. •' Amzi, the name of
' benevolent ' belies your words," he said.
" Think you that your home duties faithfully
performed, your pure and upright life, pass
for naught?"

" You would stand aghast, Yusuf," re-
turned Amzi, " If I told you the amount of
time that I have squandered, simply in
dreaming, smoking, and taking my ease."

"Time is a precious gift," replied Yusuf,
" it flows on and on as a great river towards
the sea, and never returns. It api>ears to
me, every day, more clearly as the talent
given to all men to be used rightly. I, as well
as you, have let precious hours pass, and, in
doing so, we have both done wrong. Yet I
pray that we may every day see, more and
more, the necessity of well occupying the
hours,—* redeeming the time, because the
days are evil.'" ' ' ' ' * ' * ' -

" Would that I had your decision of pur-
pose, your firmness of will!" said Amzi, wist-
fully. "Yusuf, it would be impossible for
me to spend all my time as you do,— visit-
ing, relieving, studying, speaking ever the
word in season, and ever working for others.
I should miss my kaif."

" Even if you know it was in the cause of
the Lord?" asked Yusuf, m ith gentle reproof.
" Yet, Amzi, you have done as much as I,
considering your opportunities. The great
thing is to do faithfully whatever comes to
one's hand, whether that be great or small.
Know you not that it was said to him who
had received only two talents, ' Well done,
good and faithful servant; thou hast been
faithful over a few things, I will make thee
ruler over many things.' As bright crowns
await the humble home-workers as the great
movers of earth, provided all be done ' as
unto the Lord.' "

" But," returned Amzi. Impatiently. " my
* good works,' as you call them, linve not
been done * as unto the Lord.' My charities
have been done simply because the sight of
misery caused me to feel unhappy. I felt
pity for the wretched, and in relieving them
set my own mind at ease, and gave satisfac-
tion to myself. I feel that It is right to do

certain things, and so I do them under a
sense of moral obligation."

"Then," said Yusuf, "has this acting
under a sense of moral obligation brought
you perfect satisfaction, perfect rest?"

" Frankly, it has not."

STusuf rose, and, placing both hands on
Amzi's shoulders, said earnestly: " My
friend, who can say that every good impulse
of man may not be an outcome of the divine
nature implanted In him by the Creator, and
which, if watered and developed, will surely
burst into the flower of goodness when
once the Influence of God's Spirit is fully
recognized and ever Invoked? Amzi, you
have many such seeds of innate good. Your
vei-y longings for good, your tone of late,
show me that you are near this blessed
recognition. Why will you not believe? Why
will you not embrace the liord .Tesus Christ?
We are all weak of ourselves, but we have
strength in him. Amzi, my friend, pray for
yourself."

He turned abruptly and left Amzi alone, to
ponder long and earnestly over the conversa-
tion of the past hour. - . ^w,.... rv^

! it 'p-'iV^ *?'!?-! '.ft'^-

CHAPTER XVIL '• ' ' ' /^

THE FATE OF DUMAH.

" Death Is the liberator of him whom freedom can-
not release, the physician of him whom medicine can-
not cure, and the comforter of him whom time cannot
console."— C'o/<o».

now began a veritable
reign of terror for the
Jews of Medina. The
first evidence of the
closing of Moham-
med's iron hand was
shown in his forcing
them to make Mecca,
rather than Jerusa-
lem, their kebla, or
point of prayer. Many refused to obey this
command, and were consequently dragged
off to await the pleasure of the prophet.

At first the keenest edge of Moslem vln-
dictiveness seemed to be directed against the
bards or poets, for the power of stirring and

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

pathetic poetry In arousing tlie passionate
Oriental blood to revenge was recognized as
an instrument too potent to be overloolced.

Ere long even the form of imprisonment
was, to a great extent, set aside, and the
knife of the assassin was set at worli.
Among tliose who thus fell were Kaab, a
Jewish poet who strove to incite the Koreish
to aggressive measures against the Moslems;
and Assina, a young woman who had been
guilty of writing satires directed against the
prophet himself. '. r

Yusuf and Amzi became greatly alarmed
for tlie safety of Dumah. Every possible
means of rendering assistance to the poor
singer seemed to be cut off. They could not
even find any clue to his wherqabouts, and
feared that he. too, had fallen beneath some
treacherous blade.

As yet, Amzi and Yusuf had been per-
mitted to wander at will. For hours and
hours did tliey roam about the streets seek-
ing for some clue to Dumah's place of im-
prisonment, but all efforts were futile, until
one day Amzi heard a faint voice singing in
the cellar of one of the Moslem buildings.
He lay down by the wall, closed his eyes,
and strained his ears to catch the sound.
It was assuredly Dumah, singing weakly:

" Oh. why win they not come,
The friends of Dumuhl
For living death Is upon him,
And the walla of his tomb dose over,
Yet will not In mercy fall on him.
Does the sun shine still on the mountain,
And the trees wave?
Do the birds still sing in the palm-trees,
And the flowers still bloom In Kuba? ^

And yet doth Dumah languish

" Hut Dumah's friends have forgotten him,
Nor seek him more.
And even the angols vanish,
And the tomb is all about him:
O Death, come, haste to Dumah I*'

Ji.i

The voice sank away in a low wall, and
Amzi sprang up. His first impulse was to
rush in and batter at the door of Dumah's
cell; his second, to call words of comfort
through the wall. Yet either would be im-
prudent and might ruin all, so he hastened
home to Yusuf.

" I will go to him immediately," said the
priest.

"But how?"

" In disguise If need be," was the reply.

" In disguise 1" exclaimed Amzi. " Friend,
\\ ith your physique, think you you can dis-
guise yourself? Not a Moslem in Mecca who
does not know the figure of Yusuf the
Christian. Nay, Yusuf. your friend Amzi
can effect a disguise much more easily.
Here,"— running his fingers through his gray
beard,—" a few grains of black dye can soon
transform this; some stain will change the
Meccan's ruddy cheeks into the brown of a
desert Arab. The thing is easy."

"As you will, then," said the priest; and
the two were soon busy at work at the trans-
forming process.

With the garb of a Moslem soldier, Amzi
was soon, to all appearance, a passable Mus-
sulman, with divided beard, and chocolate-
brown skin.

He set out, and, having arrived at the door
of the sort of barracks in which Dumah was
imprisoned, mingled with the soldiers, quite
unnoticed among the new arrivals who con-
stantly swelled the prophet's army. ,

With the greatest difficulty, yet without
exciting apparent suspicion, he found out the
exact spot in Avhich Dumah was confined.
Upon the first opportunity he slipped noise-
lessly after the attendant who was carrying
the prisoner's pittance of food. Under his
robe he had tools for excavating a hole be-
neath the wall, and his plan was to step
silently into the room, secrete himself behind
the door, and permit hims<'if to be locked in,
trusting to subsequent efforts for effecting
the freedom of himself and Dumah.

Silently he glided into the darkened room
behind the keeper. All within seemed dark
as night after the brighter light without;
but Dumah's eyes, accustomed to the dark-
ness, could see more clearly. He penetrated
the disguise at once,

"Amzi! Amzi!" he cried out delightedly, ^
"you have come! You have come!"

Amzi knew that all was undone.

"Treachery!" called the keeper.

The Moslems came pouring into the room.
Amzi was overpowered, and pinioned on the
spot.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

"What moans this?" cried Asru, the cap-
tain of the guard.

" Treachery, if it please you," returned the
keeper. " An asp which has been in our
camp with its pol«on-fang8 hid! No Moslem,
but an enemy— a friend of this dotard poet!"

"Search him!" was the order.

The tools were found.

"Aha!" said the captain. "Most con-
clusive proof, wretch! We will teach you,
knave, that foxes are sometimes trapped In
their ovn wiles. Off with him! Chain him!"

Amzi was hurried off, and Asru strode
away to execute some other act of so-called
justice. He was a man of immense stature,
heavy-featured, and covered with pock-
marks, yet his face was full of strength of
character, and bore traces of candor and
honesty, though the lines about the mouth
told of unrestrained cruelty and passion.

At home Yusuf waited in an agony of sus-
pense. The day passed into night, the night
into day, the day into night again, yet Amji
did not come. Yusuf could bear it no longer.
Anything was better than this awful wait-
ing. Only once he almost gave up hope and
cried in the words of the Psalmist, " O Lord,
why castest thou off my soul? Why hidest
thou thy face from me?" Then like balm of
healing came the words. "Cast thy burden
upon the Lord, and he will sustain thee; he
shall never suffer the righteous to be
moved."

Dressed in his quiet, scholarly raiment,
and quite unarmed, he set out in search of
Amzi. Arriving at the place, he saw none
wliom he knew. He was stopped ar the
door.

" I wish to see the captain who has com-
mand here," he said.

" You are a peaceable-looking citizen
enough," said a guard, " 5 et we have orders
to search all new-comers, and you will liave
to submit, stranger."

Yusuf was searched, but as neither arms
nor tools were found upon him, he was al-
lowed to have audience with the captain.

"Ah!" said Asru, recognizing him at once.
"What seeks Yusuf. a Cliristian. of a fol-
lower of Mohammed the prophet?"

" I seek but the deliverance of two harm-
less, inoffensive friends," he replied.

" A bold request, truly," said the other.
" Yet have I not forgotten my debt of grati-
tude to you. I have not forgotten that it
was Yusuf who nursed me through the foul
disease whose marks I yet bear, when all
others fled;" and he passed his liand over his
pock-marked face.

" Of that speak not," returned Yusuf, with
a gesture of impatience. " 'Twas but the ser-
vice which any man with a heart may ren-
der to a needy brotlier. However, if you are
grateful, as you say, you can more than re-
pay the del)t, you can make me indebted to
you, by telling me aught of Amzi, the
benevolent Mecca n, whose hand would not
take the life of a worm were he not forced
into it."

" He is here In chains," said Asru haught-
ily, " as every spy who enters a Moslem
camp should be."

" Amzi is no spy!" declared Yusuf emphat-
ically.

" His sole object, then, was to free that
half-witted poet?" asked Asru, incredu-
lously.

' It was none other. He loves him as his
jwn son, as do I. Amzi would suffer death
willingly, Yusuf Avould suffer death will-
ingly, would it spare that poor, confiding
Innocent!"

The priest's eyes were flashing, and his
tones bore witness to his earnestness. He
did not notice, nor did Asru, a pair of
bright eyes that peered at him from the
chink of tlie doorway; he did not know that
a face full of petty, vindictive spite was
partially hidden by the darkness without, or
that tAvo lieen ears were listening to every
word he said.

" Yusuf," returned the captain In a low
tone, " you are the only man who has ever
seemed to me good. Your words, at least,
are ever truth. You wonder, then, that I
follow the prophet? Simply because the e.v-
citement of war suits me, and "—he shrugged
his slioulders with a laugh— "It Is the best
policy to be on the winning side. Most of
these crazed idiots believe in him, and fear

>f ^ ■ I ^ ^^My l W l y upw w s fai

TEE DAYS OF MOHAMMED,

that he will work enchantments upon them
if they do not; but the doctrine of the sword
and of plunder goes farther with a few, of
whom Asru Is one. Because I believe In
you, Yusuf, I shall try to carry out your
request. But it would cost me ray life were
it found out, so it must be seemingly by
chance. Rest assured that, bad as I am,
cruel as I am, I shall see that Yusuf's
friends have some ' accidental ' way of es-
cape."

So spoke Asru, nor knew that a pair of
feet were hurrying and shuffling towards
the prophet, while a soldier kept guard at
the door.

" May heaven bless you for this!" cried
the priest. " So long as Amzi and Yusuf
breathe you shall not lack an earthly
friend."

" Tush!" exclaimed the captain. " 'Tis but
the wish to make old scores even. You
serve me; I serve you. We are even."

" Then I shall leave you," said Yusuf, ris-
ing with a smile.

Asru opened the door. ' v ' ■ i ••

" Hold!" cried a guard. " By order of the
prophet, Asru is my prisoner!"

"Wherefore?" cried Asru, attempting to
seize his dagger.

" Because, though it is politic to be on the
winning side, it is not always safe to be a
traitor and to countermand Moliammed's
orders," replied the prophet's musical voice,
as the soldiers gave way to permit his ad-
vance.

Asru freed himself and dashed forward,
wielding his dagger right and left, but it
was a rash effort. He was instantly over-
powered and bound hand and foot. The
priest shared the same fate.

The prophet looked down upon the captain,
" Asru," he said, " you whom I deemed a
most faithful one, you who have pro>'^ed
false, know that death is the meed o< a
traitor. Yet that you may know Moham-
med can show mercy, I give you your life.
For the sake of your past services I grant
It you, and trust that, having learned obedi-
ence and humility, you may once again
grace our battle-fields nobly. Guards, chain

him, yet see that he Is kept In easy confine-
ment and lacks nothing. Send me Uzza."

The Oman Arab came forward. He was
a dark-browed man, under-sized, and with
one shoulder higher than the other. His
eyes were long and narrow, with a look of
extreme cunning ^uv^ •■. them, and his mouth
was cruel, his lips being pressed together so
tightly that they looked like a long white
line.

" Upon you, Uzza, O faithful, as next In
command, I confer the honor of the position
left vacant by Asru. Do thou carry out Its
obligations with honor to thyself and to the
prophet of Allah."

Uzza prostrated himself to the ground.

Mohammed turned to lusuf. " Whom
have we here? What said you in your ac-
cusation, Abraham? An accomplice of Asru,
was it?"

The little peddler, the silent watcher at
the door, came forward, hopping along as
usual, but with malignant triumph In his
face.

" This, O prophet," he said, making obei-
sance, " is not only an accomplice of Asru,
but a sworn enemy of the prophet of Allah
and of all who believe in him."

" Why, methinks I have seen him before,"
said Mohammed, passing his hand over his
brow. " Is not this the gentle friend of
Amzi?"

" He is the friend of Amzi," returned the
Jew, " but even Amzi lies in chains as a spy
among the Moslems."

" I had forgotten," said the prophet. " Yet
what harm hath this gentle Meccan done?"

" He is Yusuf, the Magian priest," said
the Jew. " And believe, O prophet of Allah,
the Magians are your most bitter enemies,"

Uzza started and leaned forward with In-
tense Interest. Yusuf felt his burning gaze
fixed on his face.

" What proof have you that this Is a
Magian priest?" asked the prophet, wearily.

" See!" exclaimed the Jew.

He tore back the priest's garment, and
there was the red mark of the torch outlined
distinctly against the white skin.

" Ha!" cried Uzza, starting forward, the

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

veins of his forehead swelling with excite-
ment. " The very niarlj! The secret marlj
of the priests among those who worsliip flre
and the sun! This, O Mohammed, is not
only a priest, but a
priest who has fed tlie
temple fires, and as
such has been pledged
to uphold the Guebre
religion at whatever
cost."

Yusuf said nothing.

"Can you not speali,
Yusuf?" aslced Mo-
hammed. '• Have you
no word to say to all
this?"

"It is all true, O
Mohammed," replied
Yusuf, quietly. "It is
true that in my youth-
ful days I was a
priest at Guebre
altars. Now, I am
not Yusuf the Magian
priest, but Yusuf the
Christian, and a hum-
ble follower of our
Most High God and
his Son Jesus."

"Dare you thus
pioclaim yourself a
Christian to my very
face?" exclaimed Mo-
hammed. "Magian
or Christian, ye are
all alike enemies. Off
with him! Do with
him as you will, Uzza,
—yet," relenting, " I
commend him to your
mercy." He turned
abruptly and left the
apartment. r. r tt-

Yusuf was immediately talcen and thrown
into a close, darlc room. He was still bound
hand and foot.

The little Jew entered, and sat down with
his head on one side.

" Now, proud Yusuf," he said, " has come

Abraham's day. Once it was Yusuf's day;
then the poor peddler, tlie little dervish, was
scourged and ciiained, and well-nigli smoth-
ered in that vile Meccan chamber. Now it

" He knows that Usuf s hands reek with blood," said Uzza.— See page 58.

has come Abraham's day, and Yusuf and
Abraham will be even. How does this suit
your angelic constitution? Angelic as you
are, you cannot slip through chains and
bolted doors so easily as the little Jew. Oh,
Yusuf, are you not happy? Uzza hates you;

■ff

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

I'!

llil

I saw It In his face. Did you ever know him
before?" The Jew's propensity for news
was to the fore as usual.

Yusuf answered nothing.

" Tell me," said the Jew, giving him a
shake. " what does Uzza know of you?"

" He knows," said a thin, grating voice
from behind, " that Yusuf's hands reek with
the blood of Uzza's only child, the fair little
Imra, murdered in tlie cause of religion; and
ere I could reach him— yes, priest, with
vengeance in my heart, for had I found you
then your blood would have blotted out the
stain of my child's on your altar!— the false
priest had fled, forsaken the reeking altar,
left It black In ashes, black as his own false
heart. And then, that vengeance might be
satisfied, was Uzza's blade turned against
the aged grandmother who had delivered
the little one up to Persian gods. O priest,
your work is past, but not forgotten!"

" Uzza." cried the priest, " I neither ask
nor hope for mercy. Yet would God I could
restore you your child! Its smile and its
death gurgle have haunted my dreams
through these long years! 'Twas in my
heathendom I did it!"

"That excuse will not give her back to
me," said Uzza, stepping out of the room
with the Jew, as the warden came with the
keys.

It was not Uzza's purpose to bring about
Yusuf's speedy death. As the cat torments
the mouse which lias fallen into its power,
so he resolved to keep the priest on the rack
for a considerable length of time.

Hearing of the conversation between him
and Asm, he knew that exquisite torture
could be inflicted on the priest through
Dumah, and determined to strike at him
first through the poor singer. Dumah's exe-
cution was, accordingly, o'au'ed.

Early one morning, Amzi. looking out of a
little chink in his window through which the
bare court-yard below was visible, was hor-
rified to see a scene revolting In its every
detail, and over which we shall hasten as
speedily as may be.

There In the gray morning light stood Yu-
suf, bound and forced to look on at the*

death of the bright-haired singer, whose
sunny smile had been as a ray of sunshine
to the two men.

Amzi looked on as If turned to stone-
heard Dumah's last cheerful words, " Do not
weep, YuHuf ; It will be all flowers, all angels,
soon. Dumah is going home happy,"— then
he fell on his face, and so lay for hours un-
conscious of all. Reason came slowly back,
and he realized that another of the trage-
dies only too common in those perilous days
had taken place.

" I am going home happy," rang In his
ears. The cold moonlight crept in, shining
In a dead silver bar on the ceiling. Amzi
lay looking at it, until It seemed a path of
glory leading, for Dumah's feet, through the
window and up to heaven.

" I am going home happy." Was that home
Amzi's home too? Ah, he had never thought
of it as his home, though he remembered the
words—" In my Father's house are niany
mansions." He imagined he saw Dumah in
one of those bright mansions, happy in
eternal love and sunshine, while he, Amzi,
was without.

For the first time in his life Amzi was con-
cerned deeply about his soul; and now there
was no Yusuf to answer his questions. Ere
another day had passed he, too, might be
called upon to undergo Dumah's fate. He
could not say " I am going home happy."
How, then, might tills blessed assurance be
his? He strove to remember Yusuf's words,
but they seemed to flit away from his mem-
ory. His whole life appeared so listless, so
selfish, so taken up with gratification of
self! At last he seemed a sinner. How
could he obtain forgiveness?

He turned over in agony, and the little
stone tablet fell against his bosom. With dif-
ficulty, on account of the manacles on his
hands, he drew it forth and traced the words
with his finger.

" For God so loved the world, that he gave
his only begotten Son, that whosoever be-
lieveth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life."

As when a black cloud passes away from
tlie moon and a flood of brightness fills the

i.Bn.i-.— ■araiia.Mflaji

■

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

his

oras

— ---'

fave

be- :
lave

rom

the

whole air below, so the light burst upon
Amzl. He saw It all now!. His talk with
Yusuf on the love of God came back to him,
and he shouted aloud with joy:

" Praise the Lord, he hath set me free!"
. " Then for the sake of mercy, help me to
get out of this too," said a voice from the
other side of the partition. It was Asm.

" Alas, my friend," returned Amzl, "chains
are still on my body. It Is my soul that
soareth upward as an eagle."

" Wherefore?"

Amzl read the verse of Sci Ipture aloud.

"I have heard somewhat of that before,"
said Asru. " Read It again."

Amzl did so, and explained It as well as he
could. Asru listened eagerly. This new
creed Interested him by Its novelty, espe-
cially since he was In forced inaction and
had nothing else to think of. But it also ap-
pealed to a heart which had some noble
traits among many evil ones; and as Amzl
talked, sorrow for his sins came upon him.

" But the promise cannot be given to such
as I," he said, wistfully. "A long life of
wickedness surely cannot win forgiveness."

" O friend," returned Amzi, eagerly, " ' be-
lieve on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
Shalt be saved.' IIow often did they tell me
those words and I would not believe, could
not understand!"

And then Amzi told the story of the thief
on the cross, as he had read it and talked It
over with Yuvsuf. His voice thrilled with
eagerness, and, on the other side of the wall,
Asru wept tears of repentance. To him too,
the door was opening, and a great longing
for the love of Christ and for a better life
filled his bosom. So they talked until the
noise of the awakening Moslems in tlie pas-
sage without rendered it Impossible for them
to hear each other. But joy had come to
tK)th Amzl and A«ru within the prison-walls.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A SCENE IN PALESTINE.

** T bad rather choose to be a pilgrim on earth with
Thee than without Thee to possess heaven. Where

Thou art, there is heaven: and where thou art not,
there is death and hell."— 'J'homa» d Kempit.

T was a scene perfect in its
calm beauty. A small, low,
white house, flat - roofed,
and dazzlingly clean, nes-
tled at tlie foot of one of
the fairest liills in Pales-
tine; and before the door
swept the river Jordan,
plashing with that low, soft
ripple which is music every-
where, but nowhere more so than in the
hot countries of the East.
A grove of banana and orange-trees shel-
tered the house, and the delicate fragrance
of the ripening fruit mingled with tlie per-
fume of late roses. On the greeu !-'ls near,
sheep rambled at will, and an occasional low
bleat arose above the busy hum of bees, giv-
ing an air of life to the quiet scene.

In the shade of the trees sat Nathan, his
wife and Mary. Tliey had been talking of
Manasseh,— poor Manasseh, left behind in
barren Arabia! Nathan too had wantea to
stay with his distressed countrymen, but
failing health had forced him to seek the
more genial atmosphere of the North; and,
after a long, tedious journey, he at last
found himself safe once more in his beloved
Palestine, poor in worldly goods, yet serene
and hopeful as ever. ijfe ■;. .y tf s^ :

And fortune was at last smiling on the
Jewish family. Nathan's health had come
back to him in the clearer, more bracing air
of the Nortliern land, his flocks were increas-
ing, and the only gloom upon their perfect
happiness was the absence of Manasseh,
from whom they were not likely to hear
soon. And yet they gloried In knowing that
Manasseh had chosen to meet tribulation for
the sake of his faith, and that, wherever he
was, he was helping others and fighting on
the side of right.

" Father," said Mary, " how grand It is to
be able to do something great and noble in
the cause! Were 1 a man. I would go with
Manasseh to fight for the Cross."

Nathan stroked her hair softly. " The life
of e- "vone who is consecrated to God is

mmmmmm

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

directpd by hirn," he aald. "To Marasseh Is
filven tlie privilege of defending the faith
and helping the weak by his strong, young
arm; to Mary Is given the humble, loving life
in which she may serve God just as truly
and do Just as great a work in faithfully
performing her own little part. Think you
not so, mother?"

" Ah, yes," returne<l the mother, with her
gentle smile. " Life Is like the cloth woven
little by little, until the whole pattern shows
In the finished work; and it matters not
whether the pattern be large or small. So
the little things of life, done well for Christ's
sake, will at last make a noble whole of
which none need be ashamed." ; i -

" But mother, watching the sheep, grinding
the meal, washing the garments, seem such
very little things."

" Yet all these are very necessaiT things,"
returned the mother quietly, " and if done
clieerfuUy and willingly, call for an unselfish
heart. A gentle, loving life lived amid little
cures and trials is no small thing, my child."

Mary kissed her mother. " Mother, you al-
ways say what comforts one; you always
n.ake me wish to live more patiently and
lovingly." r^iji ';..' if-n..v,-'iulAi ,. -, - ■^. m..'-!

" And yet, Mary," said her father.
" mother's life has been one round of small
duties."

Mary sat thinking for a moment. " Yes,
father," she answered slowly, " I see now
tliat mother's life has been the very best ser-
mon on duty. I shall try to be patient and
happy in simply, doing well whatever my
hands find to do. But I wish Manasseh were
home;" and she loolced wistfully to the west,
where bands of color were spreading up the
sky, saffron at the horizon, blending into
gold and tender green above, while all
melted into a sapphire dome streaked and
flecked with rosy pink rays and bars.

" How he would enjoy this glorious sun-
set! Oh, father, how dreadful if he were to
be killed!— if he were nevermore to sit with
us looking at the sunsets!" Her voice trem-
bled a little as she spoke.

"We are committing him to the care of
Almighty God," returned Nathan, solemnly.

" Go<l is love, and whatever he does will be
best."

" You find great comfort, father. In believ-
ing that * all things work together for good
to them that love God.' " said Mary.

" For the children of God, everything that
happens must be best." it; lo • '

"Even persecution and death?"

" ijJven persecution and death. If God so
will."

Mary looked at his placid face for a long
time, then she said: "How very peaceful
you and mother are!"

" How could we be otherwise," the father
replied, smiling, '* witli Jesus with us each
hour, each moment? And we know that he
' will never leave nor forsake us.' I think,
too, that he is very close to my daughter.
Mary, is there anything in this world that
could take the place of Jesus to you? Would
wealth or honor or any earthly joy makp you
perfectly happy if you could never pray to
Jesus more, never feel him near you as an
ever-present Friend, nevermore have the
hope of seeing his face?"

Mary clasped her hands, and her face
glowed. " Never, oh, never!" she cried. " I
would rather be like poor blind Bartimeus
begging by t' ? wayside, yet able to call,
' Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!' "

The sun had now set, and the sky had
faded with that suddenness common in East-
ern lands. .- ■>,' ;; .' >>,*«« ia|.;::."'»,«:.fii i- «

Nathan arose. " Let us now oflPer up
prayer for the safety of Manasseh, and for
the steadfastness of the brethren; for we
know that where two or three are gathered
together in Jesus' name, there is he In the
midst of them. liCt us pray!"

The three knelt in the dim chamber, with
silence about and the evening stars above,
and prayed for the lad who, amid very dif-
ferent scenes, was in the heart of the strange
revolution. And then they sang the words
of that sublime psalm, than which no
grander poem was ever written: -

1 will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from
whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made
heaven and earth.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Ho will not Buffor thy foot to ho nioved; he
that k<>oiK>th thee will not sliiinber.

Behold, he that keepeth iMi'uel Hhnll neither
slumber nor 8leep.

The Lord Ih thy keeper; the Lord ia thy shiule
upon thy ripht hand.

The Kun shall not smite thee by day, nor the
moon by nijfht.

The Lord shall preserve thee from nil evil;
he shall preserve thy soul.

The Lord shall preserve thy jroiujf out and
thy ooniinK in from this time forth, and even
for evermore.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE BATTLE OF OHOD.

" Dost tho I not know the fate of soldiers?
They're but Ambition's tools, to out a way
To her unlawful ends." —liouthern.

'•■4

HILE these events
had been taking
place in the
North, Ilenda had
given Abu Soflan
little peace, urg-
ing him every day
to pay the dues
of blood - revenge
for her relatives,
and taunting him
with cowardice in his long delay.

At length, in the third year of the Hegira
he gathered a considerable army, and with
three thousand men of the Koreish tribe,
among whom were two hundred horsemen,
left Mecca, accompanied by Henda and fif-
teen of the matrons of Mecca bearing tim-
brels and slngii^ war-like chants.

The whole army advanced with the inten-
tion of besieging Medina, but Mohammed's
men entreated him to let them encounter
Abu Sofian outside of the city, and he
yielded to their entreaties. With only one
thousjind men,* fifty of whom were chosen
archers, the prophet took up his stand on a
declivity of Mount Ohod, al>out six miles
north of the city. There, on its black and
barren slope, he divided his army into four

♦ 13urtoD gives seven hundred.

,*» .%

parts, three of which bore saored banners,
whi . the grt'at standard was placed before
IMohamnuMi himself.

In order to imbue his men with courage,
he came out In full view of the whole array,
and. In a loud voice that penetrated even
tlie farthest ranks, gave promise of victory.
Tiien, for the sake of those who should be
killed In battle, he expatiated upon the de-
lights of that Paradise wliich surely awaited
all who should be slain In the cause, repre-
senting it such a paradise as would be pe-
culiarly adapted to the tastes and stimulat-
ing to the iniJiglnation of the Arabs— a race
accustomed to arid wastes, burning sands,
and glaring skies; a paradise of green fields
and flowery gardens coohnl by innumerable
rivers and sparkling fountains, which glit-
tered from between shaded bowers Inter-
woven with perfumed flowers. He gave
them promise of streams literally flowing
with milk and clearest honey: of trees bend-
ing with fruit which should be handed down
by liouris of wondrous beauty; he told them
of treasures of gold, silver, and Jewels.
" They shall dwell in gardens of delight, re-
posing on couches adorned with gold and
precious stones. . . Ui)on them shall be gar-
ments of fine green silk and brocades, and
they shall be adorned with bracelets of sil-
ver, and they shall drink of a most pure
liquor— a cup of wine mixed with the water
of Zenjebil, a fountain in I'aradise named
Salsabil." ' *?<•'■ ; f*r..-u.^*^?n i •■- ■ : -'r'?.

Such was the sensual character of the
paradise promised to his i,.llowers by Mo-
hammed. The soldiers were listening eagerly
to the words when the army of Abu Soflan
V as seen, advancing in the form of a cres-
cent, with Abu Soflan and his idols in the
center, and Henda and her women in the
rear, sounding their timbrels, and singing
loud war-chants, v-^^^? vr* ' I ^'t'ov • .

The horsemen of the left wing of the
Koreish now advanced to attack the Mos-
lems in the flank, but the archers flred upon
them from the top of some steep rocks, and
tliey retired in confusion.

Hamzji. a Moslem leader, then shouted the
Moslem cry, "Death! Death!" and rushed

i*I^«p -• TC:- M^ ' . " « gJM

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

'■^W

II '

down the lilll upon the center. The crn«h
and ronr of buttle bo^nn. lU^h in air
Kleanied 8i)enr and luuce; horHes Hhrleketl
and reared, and tossed their louj? uiuiich;
dark, contorted vlKa^'es and shining teeth
Hhone out from clouds of du«t; s.isues floated
on the air, an<l snbrcs flashed lu the sunlight;
all was mad confusion.

In the m(^\6e two jounjr men met hand to
hand. Both were tall and slight, and had
dark, waving hah\ So like were they thot a
warrior near them called out, " Behold, doth
Manasseh tiglit with Manasseh!" But the
youths heard not, recked not. Their blows
fell thick and fust, until at last the Moslem
gave way, and fell, wounded and bleeding,
In the dust by the side of Hamza. who lay
stiffening In death.

Then arose the shout, " The swonl of God
and his prophet!" and Abu Dudjana, ai'med
with the prophet's own sword, waved It
above his head and dashed Into the thick of
the battle.

Mosaab, the standard-bearer, followed
close and planted the standard at the top of
a knoll. An an*ow struck him In the eye.
He fell, and the cry arose that the prophet
himself had fallen. All seized the standard
and floated It aloft on the air; but the Mos-
lems, seized with confusion, would not rally,
and withdrew to the hill-top.

The Koreish, thinking Mohammed killed,
forbore to follow them, and began the re-
volting work of plundering the dead. Henda
and her companions savagely assisted in the
gruesome task; and. coming upon Hamza,
the fierce woman mutilated his dead body.

By him she found the handsome youth,
whom she believed to be Manasseh, so torn
and covered with blood as to conceal his
Moslem adornments. To Manasseh she had
taken a strange fancy, and she now ordered
the youth to be conveyed in safety to the
camp, with the army which was forming in
line of march.

The band of Jews who had come with the
forces of Abu Soflan, mainly for the purpose
of delivering those of their afflicted brethren
who had refused to join Mohammed, and of
whom many were imprisoned in Medina,

now Joined with a band of the Koreish, who
desired the free<ioin of some of their tribe,
and, while the excitement of battle was still
fresh, the party entered the city by stealth,
then, dashing furiously down the street to
the guard-house, overpowered the guards
and battered open the doors, setting many of
the prisoners free. Among these were Amzl.
Asru, and Yusuf.

It was Manasseh himself who broke in the
door of the apartment in which Yusuf was
confined.

An exclamation of pleasure burst from
him on recognizing the priest, and he threw
his arms about his neck.

" Yusuf! My dear Yusuf!" he cried.

" My boy!" exclaimed tlie priest, in aston-
ishment. "What means this?"

" It means that you are free," said the
youth as he knocked off the chains. " Haste!
We must on to the camp ere the Moslems re-
turn. Anything more than this I will tell
you on the way."

Once again Yusuf stepped out Into the
pure air, along with many others who bore
part of their chains in the broken links that
still clanked upon their wrists and ankleo.

In passing through the court-yard, the
priest noticed some one crouched In a pit-
iable he?') In a corner of the yard. Manas-
seh ha\- d him out. It was the peddler,
with ashen face and eyes rolling with fear.

"Come along, my man!" laughed Manas-
seh. " Like the worm in a pomegranate,
you are apt to do harm if left to yourself."

Abraham writ lied and begged for mercy.

" Come along!" said Manasseh, impa-
tiently. " I shall not hurt you; I shall
merely look after you for awhile."

Thus consoled, the peddler hopped on
with alacrity. A hasty mount was made
and the party set out for the camp of Abu
Soflan.

Yusuf then had a chance to ask the ques-
tion burning at his heart. " How comes it,
Manasseh, that you again flght against the
prophet? When last I saw you, you wore
the green of the Moslem."

" I!" said the youth In astonishment. " You
jest, Yusuf!"

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

" It wns surely you who mot me on the
fit 1(1 of Hcdr."

" YuHuf, are you mad? It wns never I."

"Then who cnn It have lM«en? It was
your very face."

" For once. Yusuf, your eyes have played
you false. How could you have believed
such a thluK of Manasseh?"

" A strange resemblance!" mused Yusuf ;
then—" Whom see I before me yonder?"

" Manasseh's eyes do not play him false,
and he declares It to be Amzl." said the
youth.

They hastened up the narrow street, now
crowded with soldiers, prisoners, camels,
and horses; and. escaping the missiles
thrown by Infuriated Moslem women from
the housetops, soon overtook Amzl and
Asm. All proceeded at once to the camp of
Abu Soflan.

Some large tents were set apart for the
wounded Koretsh, and here Yusuf and Amzl
found speedy occupation in binding wounds,
and giving drinks of water to the parched
soldiers. Manasseh entered with them.

" What means this?" cried Henda. " Did
I not have you conveyed, soaked with blood,
among the wounded of the Koreish?"

" I have not been wounded to-day." re-
turned Manasseh. " Read me this riddle,
Henda. There must be a second self—"

" Here, Manasseh!" Interupted Yusuf from
one side. " Had you a twin brother, this
must be he."

Yusuf was bending over a youth whose
dark eyes spoke of suffering, and who lay
listlessly permitting the priest to bathe his
blood-covered brow. His eyes were fixed on
Manasseh, who was quickly coming forward,
and those near wondered at the striking re-
semblance, more marked than is often found
between brothers.

"Who are you, friend?" asked Manasseh,
curiously.

" Kedar the Bedouin!" returned the youth,
proudly. " Though how I came into a Kore-
ish camp, is more than I can explain."

" For that you may thank your resem-
blance to me," laughed Manasseh. " You
are weak, Kedar, my proud Bedouin, and we

will ask you to talk but little; yet, I pray
you. tell me, who was your father?"

" Musn, the Bedouin Shelkh."-haughtlly.

" And your mother was Lois, daughter of
Eleazar?"

" Even so." returned the other, wonder-
Ingly.

" My cousin!" exclaimed Manasseh. de-
lightedly seizing his haixl.

" And son of my Bedouin friend, Musa!"
exclaimed Yusuf.

So th<» Bedouin youth, the rasli. hot-headed
Moslem recridt. found hhiiself among friends
In a Koreisij camp.

Nigiit had now fallen, and under cover of
darkness. Moluimmed's army silently re-
turned to Medina.

There were those who censured the
I)roi)het for ids conduct at this battle; and
some even dared to charge him with decep-
tion in promising them victory. But Mo-
hammed told them that defeat was due to
their sins: " Verily, they among you who
turned their backs on the day whereon the
two armies met at Ohod. Satan caused them
to slip for some crime which they had com-
mitted."

To quiet those who lamented for their
slain friends, he brought forth the doctrine
that the time of every man's death Is fixed
by divine decree, and that he must meet It
at that time, wherever he be.

In the morning the majority of Abu Sofl-
an's forces set out for Mecca. Among them
were Yusuf and Amzl, also Asm the captain;
and it was with no small sense of comfort
that the half-starved prisoners sat again
about Arazi's well-stocked board.

Manasseh was with them. Kedar, scorn-
ing to desert tlie Moslem army, had refused
to leave Medina, and, by the earnest inter-
cession of Yusuf and Amzl, whose word was
of some import In Meccan ears, he had been
given his freedom.

It was with deep relief that all felt the
short respite from the blare of battle; and,
though they looked forward to the future
with anxious forebodings, and though their
joy was clouded by tlie death of Dumah, they
were thankful for present blessings. Not

■ ■iul i yri JIIMm ' J)UIW»M ! N ! .!M. » ! i

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

alone prayer, but praise, was an essential
part of their religion, and tlieir voices as-
cended in song,—

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise
sliall continually be in thy mouth.

My soul shall make her boast in the Lord;
tho humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.

magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt
his name together.

1 sought the Lord, and he heard me, and de-
livered me from all my fears.

They looked unto him, and were lightened;
and their faces were not ashamed.

This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,
and saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of tht- Lord encampeth round
about them that fear him, and delivereth them.

O taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed
is the man that trusteth in him.

O fear the Lord, ye his saints; for there is no
want to them that fear him.

CHi?^PTER XX.

THE BATTLE OF THE DITCH.

"Blood! blood! The leaves above me and around me

Are red with blood."

^^^

N the year which fol-
lowed, xMohamined's
forces were more than
once directed against
Syrian caravans, and
the plunder divided
among the Moslem
troops after one-flfth
had been appropriated
by the ;orophet; but otherwise the truce was
unbroken, until at the end of the yeai", the
Korelsh, uniting with neighboring tribes,
many of whom were Jews, formed the plan
of a grand attack which was to free El Hejaz
forever from the power of the Islam despot.
From the Caaba the call was given to all
who could be appealed to through religion,
through the interests of commerce, or
tnrough desire for blood-revenge in conse-
quence of the battles of Bedr and Ohod. To
the moi'e earnest Jews the undertaking took
the form of a vast religious war, undertaken
afiainst the hosts of Satan for the deliver-
ance of a land in bondage; to the Meccan

merchants it assumed the guise of a com-
mercial transaction which would again re-
store the trade so long ruined by Moham-
med's hostile measures; to the Korelsh and
the desert tribes it seemed the grand oppor-
tunity of clearing the honor stained by the
unrevenged death of their friends.

Accordingly a host of volunteers to the
number of one hundred thousand offered
themselves, and the vast array set out.
Among the volunteers were Yusuf, Amzi.
Asru, and the valiant Manasseh, all of whom
deemed the necessity of the hour a sufficient
reason for entering upon a course foreign to
the laws of peace which they would fain
have seen established. ^ '^ '^'

A mighty host it seemed In a land whose
battles had chiefly been confined to skir-
mishes between different tribes. As it
wound its way down the narrow valley, the
women of Mecca stood upon the housetops
listening to the trampling, and beseeching
their household gods to bless the enterprise.

Long ere they reached Medina the prophet
had received word of their advance, and had
had a ditch or entrenchment dug about the
city as a sort of fortification.

Abu Sofian ordered his tents to be pitched
below on the plain, and, this done, he at
once laid siege to the city.

But his bad generalship ruined the under-
taking. For a month he kept his men
wholly Inactive, and during that time Mo-
hammed busied himself in sending emis-
saries in the midst of Abu Soflan's men for
the purpose ' of sowing disaffection among
them; and so completely was this done that
the besieging force became hollow and rot-
ten to its core. Tribe after tribe left. The
few faithful besought their leader to permit
them to attack the city, and when at last the
order was given, but a feeble remnant of
the original host remained. Notwithstand-
ing this, the command " Forward!" was
hailed with tumultuous joy, and the besieg-
ers pressed forward in irregular yet serried
masses.

Scarcely had the attack begun when a ter-
rific storm arose. It was in the winter sea-
son, and a sudden hurricane of cold winds

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

on me shrieking triroiiscti the gaps of the
mountains to the north.

Amzi, having, as an influential Mecean,
been appointed to the command of a dl.i-
slon, charged bol<lly forward in the teeth of
the tempest, waving his sword above his
head and cheering his men on with liis hoiu -
ful voice. Yusuf, Asru and Manasseh pressed
forward close behind him. A cloud of
ari'ows met them, yet they poured Impetu-
ously on. And now the banlv was climbed
and the conflict became almost hand-to-
hand. The priest's tall form rendered him
conspicuous in the fray. Some one came
hacking and hewing his way towards him.
It was the agile Uzza. The priest was beset
on all sides and was defending himself
against fearful odds, when tht face of Uzza,
fiend-like in its hate, burst upon him as a
new opponent. He raised his weapon for a
blow, but the vision of a Guebre altar upon
which a little, bleeding child lay, rose before
him, and his arm fell.

Uzza perceived his advantage. With a
howl of triumph he cried, " False priest, you
shall not escape me this tlmel" and made a
fierce stroke with his sciiuitar. But the
blow was parried.

" Simpleton! Would you let him kill you?"
cried a harsh voice close by the priest. And
the next moment Uzza fell vvith a death-
groan at the feet of Asru.

And DOW the storm struck with ful! fury,
howling among tlie houses of Mecca, whist-
ling shrilly on the upper air, and bending
the palm trees low along its furious path.
Thatches wei<' torn from the roofs and car-
ried whirling through the air; clouds of dust
were blown high along the streets, and
black, ragged clouds scurried across the sky
as if uiged on by demon-force. Horses
neighed loudly. Many of them became un-
manageable, and dashed, with terrified eyes
and distended nostrils, through tlie midst of
the flying soldiery. The texua of Abu Sofian
were torn from tlieir pegs and hurled away.
Then the rain descended in sheets, or,
whirled round by the wind, swirled along in
columns with almost the force of a water-
spout.

Suddenly a cry was raised: "It la Mo-
hammed I The prophet has raised the storm
by enchautirent!"

The cry echoed from mouth to mouth
above the roar of the tempest. The super-
siitious Arabs were seized with terror ntjd
fled precipitately, believing themselves sur-
rounded by legions of invisible spirits,
Amzi and his little band stayed until tlie
last; then, deserted by all and blinded by the
descending torrents, tliey, too, were oldiged
to withdraw, and nn^^^^her victory, that of
the Battle of the J, bad fallen to the
pi'ophet.

This was the lasi "\\^ dition undei'taken
by the Koreish against their victorious
enemy. Moliammed. of course, attributed
hts great conqresi t divine agency. In a
passage from the Koran he declared:

" O true believers, remember the favor of
God toward you. when armies of infidels
came against you. and we sent against them
a wind and hosts of angels which ye saw
not."

The heart sickens in following further^
Mohsjmmed's willful career of blood. Inuring
the following five years he is said to have
commanded tv.'enty-seven expeditions and
fought nine pitched batUes. Against the
Christian Jews in particular the bitterest
expressions of ids hate were directed; jjnd to
his dying day this incompreliensible man,
from whose lips proceeded words of mercy
and of deadliest rancor, worda of love and
of hate, words of purity and of gross sens^u-
ality— this strange man persecuted them to
the last, nor over ceased to direct hi.s arms
against all v/ho followed tlint gentle .Jesus
of Nazareth of wliose power tliis blood-
marked, self-proclaimed prophet, of Ahah
was envious

His followers, dazzled by t!ie glare of his
brilliant victories or solicifous for self-pres-
ervation, constantly sv^-lled sc numbers, but
tliere were a few wiio. like Kedar, bad
heard of tlie peacealdeness of the religion of
Jesus Christ, and who began to sicken of the
flow of blood which deli^ged the sands of El
H(»jaz. nud ran even into tlie Nejd. the bor-
ders of Syria, and o* Arabia-Felix. ,

Kmrvnrfimm wnrmmmimmnmmmmmm»ixtwmf:*-fVmmwim\^slliA'WK'

>«*(lj

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Kedar often longed for the friendly touch,
the hearty, kindly words, of the friends
whom he had met and parted from as in a
dream. He had soon refused to believe iii
Mohammed's divine appointment. Even
this Bedouin youth had enough penetration
to see that religion must stand upon its
results, and that the private life of Moham-
med would not stand the test of inspection.
Fain would he have left his ranks many and
many a time. The brand of coward he
knew could not be attached to him for leav-
ing victorious ranks to ally himself with the
few and feeble Jews, yet there was some-
thing in the idea of " turning his coat "
which he did not like. He imagined In a
vague way that such a proceeding would
compromise his principles of honor, and he
had not reached the wisdom of that great
educator, Comenius, who, not long ere his
death, wrote a treatise upon "the art of
wisely withdrawing one's own assertions."
So he fought doggedly on, until circum-
stances again threw him into the bosom of
his friends.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE FAMILY OP ASRU.
" God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."

N the evening upon
which the Battle of
the Ditch was
fought, the wife of
Asm, and his
daughter, Sherah,
now almost grown
to womanhood,
were returning from per-
forming Tiiwaf at the tem-
ple. They had prayed for the success of the
Koreish expedition; they had drank of the
well of Ismael, Zem-Zem. and had poured its
water on their heads. Now they were hasten-
ing home to offer prayers to their household
gods in the same cause, for, during Asru's
apostiisy to the Moslem ranks, his wife, a
woman of the Koreish, and her family had

never swerved from their hostility to Mo-
hammed and all connected with him. For
their obstinacy in this, they had been cruelly
abused by Asm, who, with the superiority
which most men In the East, assume over
women, ruled as a tyrant in his house.

It was with unspeakable satisfaction that
Sherah and her mother found that Asm had
at last broken all connection with the
prophet, but a change had come into his
manner which was to theui most unaccount-
able. Instead of cruelty now was kindness;
instead of stormy petulance, now was pa-
tience; and yet, Asru had not mentioned the
cause of his new life. A sort of backward-
ness on the subject, a desire to know more of
it before communicating with others, strove
with him against the dictates of his con-
science, and he had as yet been dumb. He
had not concealed his connection with the lit-
tle band of Jewish Christians. In spite of
the Jeers of his friends among the Koreish,
he had attended their meetings regularly.
That had been the extent of his active Chris-
tian work; yet his life had been preaching
while his lips were still.

Sherah and her mother talked of him as
they walked.

" Mother, however it be, father was never
kind until he went to the Jewish meet-
ings."

" Tme. Yet many of these same Jews are
wicked, thieves, low robbers, not fit for such
as Asm to mingle with," said the mother
haughtily.

" Yet not the Jews who attend the church,"
returned the girl, quickly. " I know them.
Most of them are poor, but not thieves; they
seem quiet, industrious people. Then, Amzi
attends there now, you know, and Yusuf,
who. when the plague was raging, spent
weeks In attending the ,sick. Did he not
come to father and sit with him night after
niglit, when, mother— I shame to say it— l)oth
you and I fled!"

The mother walked in silence for a mo-
ment.

" There must be some strange power that
urges a man to do such acts," she said,
musingly. " It would be easier far to go out

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

to battle, urged on by the enthusiasm of con-
quest, and cheered by the music and clash
of timb/els to deeds of bravery. It takes a
different spirit to enter the houses of filthy
disease, to court death in reeking lazar-
houses, to sit for weeks watching hideous
faces and listening to the ravings of madmen
through the long, hot nights of the plague-
season."

" Mother, I am convinced that their re-
ligion prompts them to do it. What else can
it be?"

"What is their religion?"

" I know not; yet we may know for the
going, perhaps. See, the lights gleam in
their little hall. They hold meeting to-night.
Let us go."

"What! And let the proud tribe of the
Korelsh, the guardians of the Caaba, see a
woman of the Korelsh enter there?"

" We can go in long cloaks, mother, and it
is well-nigh dark. Come, will you not?"

The pleadinr voice was so earnest that the
mother consented. Yet, that the influence of
the god« in the result of the battle might not
be lost, they first entered their own house,
prostrated themselves before the gods, and
besought their aid in the Korelsh cause.
Then, donning long outer cloaks, and veiling
their faces closely, the two slipped out of a
back way and stealthily hastened towards
the .1 ewish church.

It was late 'hen they aiTived. Neither
Yusuf nor Ani/i was present to raise the
hearts of their hearers with words of simple
an( earnest piety, no voice of Manasseh was
thei to lead in the songs of praise, but an
old 1 in with snoAvy hair and a saint-like
face was standing behind a table, a volume
of the Scriptures before him, and the
voices of the congregation, some twenty in
number, arose in the old, yet ever new
words:

" The Lora is my shepherd, I shall not
want. He maketh me to lie down in green
pastures; he leadeth me beside the still
waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth
me in the paths of righteousness for his
name's sake. Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear

no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and
thy staff they comfort me."

The Korelsh woman listened. She .?ould
not understand all this. Yet it was beautiful,
— " green pastures." " still waters." Could
it be that these people knew of an Ely si an
spot, unknown to Meccans — that their God
led them to such favored retreats? She
could restrain her impatience no longer.

''Where are the green pastures and still
waters?" she cried, impetuously, "that I too
may go to them!"

The old man smiled with serene kindness.
" Daughter," he said, " the green pastures
and still waters are the pleasant places of
the soul. Hast thou never known what it
was to have doubts and fears, restlessness
and dissatisfaction In the present, uncer-
tainty for tJie future, a feeling that there i«
little in life, and a great gulf in death?"

" I have felt so almost every day," she re-
plied, passionately.

" Hast thou not found comfort in thy
gods?" he asked, gently.

" Alas, I fear to say that I have not!" she
exclaimed.

" And why fearest thou thus?" he said.

" Ah, knowest thou not that the gods are
gods of vengeance?" she replied In an awed
whisper.

" I know naujjht of your gods," he re-
turned. " Our God is a God of love. He
gives us the certainty of his presence ever
with us in this life, his companionship in
death, and the privilege o( looking upon his
face and being * forever with the Lord ' In
the world to come." ''V ; ;;; ^ ;

" And are you not afraid of death?" she
asked. "To me it seems a dreadful thing.
It makes me shudder to think that I too
must one day suffer the struggle for breath,
and then lie still an»l cold."

"To those who love the Lord 'to die is
gain.' " he said. " Have we not sung * Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for
Thou art with me ' ? Surely one who be-
lieves that, and knows that he is going to be
always with the Lord, always able to look
on his face, need not fear death."

HMMMWH

' ■ I

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

" It ifc, a beautiful thought," the woman
said, bowing her head on her hands.

" Yet not more beautiful than the thought
that the Holy Spirit is ever with us; that
Jesus himself is our brother, and undor-
stands all our little troubles; that ho has
promised to help us in overcoming all evil.
' For every one that asketli receiveth, and he
that seeketh flndeth, and to him that knock-
eth it shall be opened.' ' If a son shall ask
bread of any of you that is a father, will he
give him a stone? If he ask a fish, will he
for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall
ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If
ye, then, being evil, know how to give good
gifts to your children, how much more shall
your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to
them that ask him.' Daughter, these are the
very words of Jesus. Do they not show you
the way to the still waters and green pas-
tures? Do you not see that the love of our
God acts upon the heart as gentle sh(»wers
upon the barren land, causing it to rejoice
and bring forth fruit worthy of bein^ pre-
sented to our Lord and Master? * He hath
loved us with an everlasting love.' He loves
us ever, therefore in our returning this love
to him doth the * peace of God that passeth
all understanding' lay hold upon our
hearts." , i: f

" But ye are Jews!" she said. " Such
promises are not for the Koreisli."

" Such promises are for all," was the con-
fident reply. " Jesus said wliosoever believ-
elh in him should not peri%sh. but have ever-
lasting life. None so sinful that Jesus can-
not wash out the stain; none are excbvled
from his mercy. Daughter, believe, receive.
Let the love of God enter thine heart,
and repent best by doing thine evil deeds no
more. Only come to Jesus himself. Only
have faith in him."

The Korelsh w^oman hid her face in her
hands again, and answered nothing. The
old man turned to the Scriptures and read
the story of Jesus and the woman of
Samaria, raising his voice in triumphant fer-
vor as he reached the words: " ^Vhosoever
drinketh of the water that I shall give hhn
shall never thirst; but the water that I shall

give him shall be in him a well of water
springing up into everlasting life."

Then he turned to the words spoken by
Jesus to his disciples just before his be-
trayal, and read: " Peace I leave with you;
my peace I give unto you. Let not your
heart be troubled," and, " Abide in me, and
I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of
itself except it abide in the vine, no more can
ye except ye abide in me. I am the vine,
ye are the branches; he that abideth in me.
and I In him, the same bringeth forth much
fruit; for without me ye can do nothing." "

The woman listened. With the quick ap-
preciation of the Arab for metaphor and
simile, she grasped the meaning of the
words, and a new, wonderful train of
thought came into her mind as she sat with
bowed head while simple, pleading, heart-
offered prayer was sent up to the Throne of
Grace, and the parting hymn was sung.

Then the little band gathered around her,
speaking words of cheer, and the aged leader
dismissed her with a gentle, " Come again,
daughter."

As Sherah and her motlier walked home,
the last remnant of the fearful storm that
had visited Medina passed over Mecca. They
saw the ragged clouds borne wildly over
the northern hills; they saw the stunted
aloes bending low beneath the sweep of the
wind. Yet to them there was a grandeur in
it, for there was still upon them the influence
of the Divine presence, and they thought of
Him who " walketh upon the wings of the
wind."

And as they went on. bowing their heads
before its spent fury. Asm. Amzi, and Yusuf.
far Xo the northward, struggletl on with the
fugitive army, wondering at the continued
triumph of the false prophet, yet serene in
the confidence that in the Divine Hands all
was well, and that in the far-distant end.
however blurred to human vision, all must
^\'ork for good to those who love God, even
though the reason of his working, the seem-
ing mystery of the fortunes of tlie great con-
flict, might not be unravelled until In the
briglit hereafter, when all things will at last
be ma je plain.

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.
CIIAn^EH XXII. ;.i .
MANASSEH AND ASRU AT KHAIBAR.

" Spirit of purity and grace,
Our weakness, pitying, see!
O make our hearts thy dwelling-
place.
And worthier Thee."

HE Koreish, after their
disastrous defeat at tlie
Battle of the Ditch, re-
turned in bitter disap-
pointment to Mecca.
Many even of the bravest
of the tribe felt that it was
hopeless to strive against
the propliet, whose phe-
nomenal success seemed
;.»«»<' to render his troops in-
vincible. Many, too, with the superstition
at all times common to the Arabs, were in
deadly dread of his "enchantments," and
were only too ready to listen to his bold
assertions that the momentous storm at tlie
siege of Medina had been caused in his favor
by heavenly agency; that a great host of
angels had been in invisible co-operation
with the Moslems and had drawn their
legions about the ill-fated company, crying,
" God is great!" and strilcing panic to the
hearts of the besiegers.

Because of these superstitions the hearts
of the Arabs failed them, and they day after
day lessened in' their hostility, and increased
in their spirit of submission to the now
famous prophet of El Islam. ''rt'*^ ; ri ;i: ^
The Jews, however, held out to the last,
and against them the reeliing blades of Mo-
hammed's army were turned. The Jewish
tribes of the Koraidha, Kainolia, and the
Nadhirites. in the vicinity of Medina, were
speedily overthrown, and their goods talien
possession of l)y the Moslems. Then, before
the blood cooled on the scimitars, these con-
quests were followed by the dastardly assas-
sination of the few Jews who were still in
Medina, and, being possessed of considerable
property, were a tempting bait to the ava-
ricious prophet, who now. making religion a
cloak to cover his greed and ambition, went

to the wildest excesses in i.ttainlug his ob-
jects. i.vT'... ,. '.. ., i,- -.^f;,,, ■, r

Many of the Jews, escaping dearly with
tiieir lives, iled to the city of Khaibar, five
days' journey to the northeast of Medina, a
city inhabited by Jews, who, living in the
midst of a luxuriant farming district, had
grown rich in the peaceful arts of agri-
<'idture and commerce. Others hastened
thither in tiie hope that Khaibar miglit be-
come the nucleus of a succt-ssful resistance
of Mohammed's power in the near future;
and among the latter class was Manasseh.

Late one afternoon he arrived in the rich
pasture-laids surrounding the city. The air
of peace and prosperity, the lowing of herds
and bleating of f-heep, delighted him; and.
tliough weary from his journey, it was with
a light heart that he urged his flagging horse
between tlie long groves of palm-trees until
the city canie in sight.

His martial si)irit glowed as he noted the
heavy out-works, and the strength of the
citadel Al Kamus, which, built on a high
rock, and towering rugged and black against
the orange sky of the setting sun, seemed to
the young soldier almost impregnable.

He was welcomed at the gates as another
recruit to the gathering forces, and. on his
request, was at once directed to the house of
the chief, Kenana Ibn al Rabi, a man re-
puted to be exceedingly wealthy Here he
was courteously received l)y Kenana and his
wife Saflya; and, In a long conference,
he informed the chief of the numbers
and zeal of Mohamme<i's army, urging upon
him the immediate strengthening of the city,
as it was highly probable that the prophet
would not long desist from making an at-
tempt upon a tid-bit so tempting as that
which Khaibar presented.

That evening an informal council of war
was held in the court-yard of the chief's
house. Al Haretli. a l>rother of Asru, a man
who, altliough an Arab, had been api)ointed
to high offlce, and had proved lilmself one f
the most distinguished commanders of the
Jewish colony, was present; and, among
otliers, Asru himself entered.

" Asru!" exclaimed Manasseh, delightedly.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

■ ■ r * '

dun'ylnj? him aside to an arbor, " you here!
I thought I had become separated from you
all in that Ill-fated storm. Where are Amzi
and Yusuf, know you?"

" Gone to Mecca with Abu Soflan's rem-
nant of an army— as miserable and hang-
head lot of fugitives as ever disgraced field !"
said Asm contemptuously. " By my faltli.
It shamed me to see our brave friends in
their company, even for the journey!"

" Why did they go to Mecca?"

'• Because they were firmly convinced that
Mecca will be the next point of attack," said
Asm, " but methinks they shall find them-
selves mistaken. Mohammed will keep
Mecca as a sort of sacred spot, dedicated to
his worship — and the worship of Allah!"
with infinite scorn. " But Khaibar is a pome-
granate of the highest branches, too mellow,
too luscious, too tempting, to elude bis grasp.
Yes, Manasseh, Khaibar will be his next
point of attack. However, I am truly glad
that Yusuf and Amzi have gone home. The
Jews and Christians in Mecca will be safe
enough for some time to come, and our
friends are getting too old to endure much
fatigue of battle."

" Aye, Asm, you and I are better fitted to
face the brunt of the charge and the weari-
ness of the march. The work of Yusuf and
Amzi should be milder, though not less
glorious, than ours."

" You say well," returned the other, with
kindling eye. " Asru, for one, can never for-
get what they have done for him."

" Asru, are all the stories of the wicked-
ness of your past life— your cruelty, your
treachery, your blasphemy— true?"

" Manasseh, let my past life go into the
tomb of oblivion if you will. 'Tis a sorry
page for Asm to look upon. The cruelty,
the blasphemy,— aye, boy. I was full of it;
but treacherous, never! Whatever Asru was,
and no devil was blacker than he in many
ways, he was never guilty of perfidy, except
you call the trying to free Amzi and poor
Dumah perfidy."

" I am glad," returned Manasseh, quietly;
" yet it would not matter now, since our
Asru is a changed man."

Asru looked at the youth earnestly.
" Manasseh," he said, " does the old nature
never come back upon you? Or have you
never known what It was to feel wrong Im-
pulses?"

"Wrong impulses!" exclaimed the other.
" Yes, Asm, many and many a time. Yet,
when one does not even look at the evil, but
keeps his face turned steadfastly towards
the right, the old self seems to lose its hold.
In drawing near to God we draw away from
evil."

" Your words, I know, are true," returned
the other; "yet the keeping from doing
wrong seems to me the hardest thing in liv-
ing a Christian life."

"But, Asru," said Manasseh, "perhaps
you are not loving enough. The more you
love Jesus, and the more you feel him in
your life, the easier it will be to turn fi'om
temptation— to hate the thing that inspires
It. If you really love him you simply can-
not do what will pain him."

" But the temptation to act hastily, to
speak unkindly, comes upon me so often,
INlanasseh, that I grow discouraged."

"The only safety is in always looking
Above for help. Believe me, Asru, I speak
from experience. Temptation in itself is not
sin; the yielding to it is. Little by little the
temptations bother us less, and we grow in
grace. You know this Is expected of us.
Paul speaks of 'perfecting holiness in the
fear of the Lord.' He says, too, 'The
weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but
mighty through God to the pulling down of
strongholds.' He said, also, to the Philip-
plans, ' It is God that worketh in you, both
to will and to do of his good pleasure,' and
the Lord himself has said, ' My grace is suf-
ficient for you, for my strength is made per-
fect In weakness.' So, Asru, ray friend, the
whole secret is in accepting that gift, in
knowing him, and in keeping the soul in a
constant state of openness for the working
of the Holy Spirit— a ' pray-wltliout-ceasing *
attitude in which one's whole life is resolved
Into the prayer: ' Thy will, not mine, be
done,' "

Asru regarded Manasseh curiously.

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

"How Is it, young as yon are," he said.
" that the«e things are so plain to you?"

" Ah, you forget," said Manasseh, " what a
blessed home training I have had, and that
from my childliood I have had Yusuf for my
counsellor. For these Christian friends of
my childhood, I never cease to be thanlcful."

Asru turned his face away. " And I, tot),
have children, Manasseh," he said in a low
voice, " children who, with their mother, are
little better than idolaters, and I have never
told them differently."

*' But you will teach them?" returned
Manasseh.

*' Ah, yes, if God spares me through this
perilous time I shall teach them."

" Have you lieard or seen aught of Kedar,
lately?" aslced Manasseh, abruptly.

" In the Battle of the Ditch I saw him for
a moment, charging furiously against one
of Abu Soflan's divisions. He was in ad-
vance of the rest, riding with his head bent
in the teeth of the tempest. On a liuoll above
me, I saw him for a moment, between me
and the sky, his hair and long sash stream-
ing in the wind; then the rain came, and I
saw him no more. Aye, but he is a brave
lad!"

" Poor cousin!" said Manasseh. "It is mis-
placed bravery. Would he were one of us!"

"He is not a Christian; and, unless he
were so, a spirit lilje his would scorn to be
one of such a craven, contention-torn mob as
that which Abu Soflan brought to the field.
Strange, Is it not, that the little band of
Christians find themselves allied to a set of
idolaters, against one who would cast idols
down?"

"Aye, but Mohammed would trample
Christians and idolaters alike. Think you
that defeat was owing wholly to cowardice
of the soldiers?"

" Not so much, perhaps, as to bad general-
ship of the leader," returned Asru. "JNever-
theless the superstition of the heathen Arabs,
and I heir fear when the cry of Mohammed's
enchantment was raised, made a craven of
every one of them. Manasseh, had we had
ten thousand Christian Jews, there might
have been a different story."

" We are nearly all Jews, here," said
Manasseh, proudly. " nave you happy fore-
bodings for the issue of the next combat?"

Asru shook his head, gloomily. " There
will be a brave resistance on the part of our
garrisons," he said, "although many of the
men are well-nigh as Ignorant and super-
stitious as the heathen Arabs; but Moham-
med's forces have swelled wondrously since
the ' enchanted ' storm. Well, we can but
do our best. Now, I see that the council has
assembled. They call us. Come."

The two left the arbor and joined the
others in the middle of the garden. And
there, while the stars shone peacefully above
In the evening sky, and the palm-trees
waved, and a little l)ird twittered con-
tentedly over its nest in an olive bush, these
men talked of measures of fortification, of
tactics of war, and schemes of blood-shed;
a conversation forced upon them, not as a
matter of choice but of necessity— the ne-
cessity of a desperate few, earthed by a re-
lentless conqueror and a ruthless despot,
whose intolerance to all who denied his
claims has never been surpassed in earth's
history.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MOHAMMED'S PILGRIMAGE.

•' Five great enemies to peace inhabit with us, viz. :

Avarice, Ambition. Envy,
Anger, and Pride." — Pe-
trarch.

N the meantime Yusuf
and Amzi liad taken
up the old routine of
life in Mecca — the
faithful doing of the
daily round, the little
deeds of charity, the
duties of business, the
attendance at meet-
ings in the little
churelj. Everything
seemed to sink back
into the old way, yet there was «ot a man in
the city but held himself in readiness to take

■((wi) x!Kmmmmmfmm9^^f^f^0»!mtmm

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

up arms were an attack made upon them to
wrest from them their freedom.

And word came that Mohammed was com-
ing,— coming, not in war, but in peace, on his
first pilgrimage to the Caaba. Mecca wa.s
instantly thrown into the wildest confusion.
Some deemed the prophet's message honor-
able, but the majority were dubious, and
thought that if Mohammed once gained an
entrance, notwithstanding the fact that it
was the sacred month Doul Kauda, his com-
ing would be but to deluge the streets with
blood.

A hasty consultation was held, and a troop
of horse under one Khaled Ibn Waied, was
sent out to check the prophet's advance.
Mohammed, however, by means of his spies,
early got word of this sally, and, turning
asl 3e from the way, he proceeded by ravines
and by-paths through the mountains; and,
ere the Meccans were aware of his prox-
imity, his whole force was encamped near
the city.

A deputation came from Ids army to the
dignitaries of Mecca bearing messages of
peace; but their reception was haughty.

" Go to him who sent you," was the reply
to their overtures, " and say that Meccan
doors are shut to one against whom every
family In Mecca owes the revenge of blood."

For days the deputation was sent, with the
same rosult, until at last ambassadors of
the prophet entered with the offer of a truce
for ten years.

The promise of a long respite from blood,
and the hope of securing time to recuperate
their forces, caught the ear of the Meccans.
A deputation was appointed to treat with the
prophet, and Amzl, though a Christian, by
reason of his wisdom and learning was
chosen as one of the representatives.

Yusuf accompanied him to an eminence
above the defile in which the Moslem tents
were pitched. A strange sight It was. Far
as eye could reach, tents, white and black,
dotted the narrow valley, horses were
picketed, and camels browsed; and In the
foreground one thousand four hundred men
were grouped, waiting to hear the issue of
the conference,— one thousand four hundred

men, bare-footed, and with shaven heade,
and each wearing the white skirt and white
scarf over the shoulder, assumed by pil-
grims. Strangely different were they from
the ordinary troops of the prophet, strangely
unrecognizable in their garb of humility and
peace; yet a second glance revealed the fact
that each carried a sheathed sword.

Yusuf remained above, but Amzl de-
scended with the embassy sent with the mes-
sage that the treaty, if suitable, would be at
once ratified. Mohammed, who, in place of
his green garb, now with obsequious hu-
mility wore the pilgrims' costume, expressed
his pleasure at the amicable attitude of the
Meccans. He was seated upon a white camel
named El Kaswa in honor of the faithful
beast which had borne him in the earlier
vicissitudes of his fortunes. Beside him, at
a table placed on the sand, sat his vizier and
son-in-law. All, to whom was given the task
of writing the treaty as dictated oy Moham-
med.

" Begin, O Ali," said the prophet, " * In the
name of the most merciful God'—" - ;

Sohall, the spokesman of the Meccan depu-
tation, immediately objected, " It is the cus-
tom of the Meccans to begin, ' In Thy name,

O God."' -. ..;.-■,:•*' . =.-:: • '/.^.-..V-fA./- ••

" So be it," assented the prophet; then, con-
tinuing, he dictated the opening of the body
of the treaty—" ' These are the conditions on
which Mohammed, the apostle of God, has
made peace with those of Mecca." n ); ji

A deep murmur of disapproval arose
throughout the Meccan embassy.

"Not so, O Mohammed!" cried Sohall
again. " Had we indeed acknowledged you
as the proi)het of God. think you we would
have sent Khaled Ibn Waled with armed
men against you? Think you we would have
closed the streets of Mecca against one
w)iom we recognized as an ambassador of
the Most High? No, Mohammed, son of Ab-
dallah, it must not be * apostle of God.' "

Mohammed again bowed in token of sub-
mission. " Write thus, then. O Ali," he said.
" * These are the conditions on which Mo-
hammed, son of Abdallah, has made peace
with those of Mecca.' "

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

He thpn prorooflod to the terms of the
treaty, Htli>ulntlnp; that the prophet nnd his
followers shoulfl have aooesss to the elty at
any season dnrlng the period of truce, pro-
vided they came unarmed, habited as pil-
grims, and did not remain over three days at
a time.

This biislnesB concluded, the embassy from
Mecca retraced Its way: and Mohammed,
changing his mind about entering the city at
that time, ordered that prayers should be
offered up on the spot, that seventy camels
should there be sacrificed, and that the pil-
grims saould then return home.

This was accordingly done, and the people
went back in somq disappointment to
Medina, where the prophet announced the
success of his mission in a new passage from
the Koran:

" Now hath God verified unto his apostle
the vision wherein he said. Ye shall surely
enter the holy temple of Mecca, if God
please, in full security."

CHAPTER XXIV. '* '

THE SIEGE OF KHAIBAR.— KEDAR.

*' The drying up a single tear has more of honest
fame than sheuding seas of gore."

N the same year, the sev-
enth year of the Hejira,
Mohammed made the ex-
pected attaclc on Khai-
bar. The chief, Kenana.
got word of his approach,
and ordered that the
country for miles around
f the capital should l>e laid
For days the long roads leading into
the city from every direction, swarmed with
a moving line of anxious-faced people, driv-
ing their camels and sheep ahead of them,
and leading mules laden with liousehold
property. liow wagons creaked beneath the
weight of fodder for the animals, and com
and dates for the people; and the loud
"Yftkh! Yflkh!" of the camel-drivers
mingled with the thud of the camel-sticks

waste.

falling upon the thick hides of the lazy ani-
mals. "'''*■ ''-'• '■■ ":'■ •' ■■■'■'•■■

Asru was given charge of the expedition
for laying waste the country; and never was
a more considerate destroyer.

"Here, here!" he would cry to an aged
man, " let me load that animal for you!" and
he would lift the heavy burden to the back
of the pack-mule, while the old man would
say. " You are surely a kind soldier after
all." "

" I will carry this sick girl." he would say,
to another, and would lift her as gently as
a mother and place her in the shugduf In
which she was to be conveyed to the city.

His spirit of gentleness spread among his
men.

" Let us be kind to our friends, men," he
would urge upon them. " The day is fast
coming when we can scarcely be kind to our
enemies, be we never so ^\illlng."

So the people, though sad as they looked
back upon their smouldering homes and
blazing palm trees, were filled with love for
the gentle soldiers, and went up with a new
motive in striking for their liberty, for vhere
is nauglit tliat will bring forth the strongest
powers of action like the impulse of love.

Ah, the blight and misery of war! Man-
asseh looked out from the citadel upon the
scene which he had deemed so fair- -the
waving corn-fields, the groves of palms and
olives and aloes, the nestling houses, the
pastures covered with flocks— now but a
blackened and smoking waste, with here
and there the skeleton of a palm tree point-
ing upward like a bony finger; and here and
there a reeking column of black smoke, or
the dull glare of a burning homestead.

The people murmured not. " Better let It
lie in ashes than permit it to fall into the
hands of the impostor!" they cried, and they
muttered curses upon the head of the de-
stroyer of their happiness and prosperity.

All were at last in and tlie anxious waiting
began. Keen eyes peered from the citadel
night and day. Watchmp i were posted at
every point of the out-works and spies were
sent broadcast through the country.

Then the fateful word came. Breathless

i W- i Jiff W^iW W

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

8C0UtB told of an army fast apprcaclilii};.
twelve hundit'd inea and two Imndn'd
horHO, eommandt'd by the prophet )lm8elf,
his vizier All, and his friend Aim Bexer.

Al Kanina, the citadel, was immediately
crowded with men, and soldiers were i)OHted
alon^ the walls, neither strong In numbers
nor in arms, for many were armed but with
staves and stones. I)esi)eratlon was in tlu>lr
hearts, and calm, resolute faces looked t'ortii
for the advancing host.

Just as the morning sun Hashed deflanMy
from the towers of Al Knmus, the Moslem
army came In sight. At first it seemed like
a moving, shapeless mass over the blackened
fields,— and as the rising sun fell upon it.
the moving mass became dotted with glints
and lines of sliver, like the ripple of waves
on a sunlit sea; but the watchers recognized
the deadly Import of those bright gleams, and
by the flash of sclmitnrs and lances were
able to compute in a vague way the strength
of their opponents.

On they came until the stony place called
Mansela was reached, and there, beneath a
great rock, the host halted. The anxious
watchers from the city could not discern the
exact meaning of this, but more than one
guessed that the halt was mad<' for the
offering of ostentatious i)rayer by the
prophet.

This Indeed was the case. As Mohammed
came in full view of the citadel he ci'ied out:
" There. O believers, is the eyrie to which
ye must climb. But victory has been prom-
ised us. Angels shall again lend us their In-
visible aid. Therefore have courage, O
believers! Remember t lat for each of those
vile Infidels slain, a double joy awaits you
in paradise. Know ye that every drop of an
unbelieving Jew shod is as the crystal drops
of nectar of paradise to the happy follower
of Mohammed, the prophet oi' God. And
fear not that ye be slain in this combat, O
faithful! Ye will not be slain except your
appointed time has come, when ye must In
any case die. Remember that to be slain In
battle for the cause of Islam is to reap a
glorious reward!"

Then, mounting the great rock, he called

with a loud voice: "La lllaha 11 Allah!
Mohammed Resoul Allah!" (There Is no God
but God! Mohammed la the prophet of
God!)

And while the fanatics below prostrated
themselves he prayed long and loudly.

Then the tents were pitched and the siege
began. For many days it lasted. So abun-
dant had been the supplies of food, and so
numerous the droves of animals brought
into the city, that those within the
walls had no fear of famine. But so com-
plete was tlie devastation of the country
that the prophet's troo[)S began to sutl'er
for want of food. Yet they waited, as a
suitable time of attack had not arrived. In
the meantime tliey were engaged In digging
trenches as a protection to the troops.

Manasseh and Asru were much togetlier.
They had become like brotliers, and night
after night they met on the citadel and
looked out ' <^r the strange scene that was
presented the inhabitants of Khaib.ir

every evening during the siege. For, daily,
just as the sun was setting, the whole Mos-
lem army, with the prophet praying loudly
at its head, set out In solemn proccHslon.
then proceeded round and round the city
until seven circuits were completed, as In
Tawaf at the Caaba.

Many among the more superstitious Jews
of KhaVbar and their few Koreish adher-
ents felt a thrill of awe ns they looked upon
this ceremony, fearing tliat the prophet Avas
again practicing his arts of enchantment
ujmn them; but the performance never failed
to bring the smile of scorn to Asru's lli)s.

"Blind fanatics!" he exclaimed one even-
ing. " A precious set of idiots!"

But Manasseh looked serious. "Asru," he
said, "of course, I do not believe In all
this; yet there Is a somethinf;: solemn in it
to me. It makes me think of the seven cir-
cuits made about Jericho, when tlie priests
blew upon the trumpets and the walls fell."

" Ah, but the voice of Jehovah gave the
order then; now,"— and he smiled contempt-
uously—" the commanding voice is that of
Mohammed, the peaceful Meccan trader,
anon the gentle prophet of Allah, anon the

TUB DAYS or MOHAMMED.

blood-thirsty vulture nnd ctit-tbroat robber,
destroyer of life and llbcuy."

" Verily, Asru the Moslem soldier ban com-
pletely thanked." returned MauaHHeb, Hmll-
Ing.

" Aye, ManHHHPh, thankH to the peaceful
(iospel of .lesuH. Asru the Mosleui. the lover
of war, would now fjiln see ihls fnir land
sndlln)? with happy homes .ind pe.iceful
tillers of tlu- soli. Whnt Is that about the
child and the cockatrice?"

"'And the Hucklnj? child shall play on the
hole of the asp. and the weaned child shall
lay Its hand on the cockatrice' den. They
shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy
mountain; for the earth shall be frll of the
knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover
the sea,' " quoted Manasseh solemnlv.

Asru looked thoughtfully out towards the
distant hills, but he did not see them. He
saw a quiet home In Mecca, where a pale-
faced wife, a beautiful daughter, and two
bright-eyed boys, sat.

" Manasseh," he said at length. " it may
be that I shall be killed in this batrh-. If I
am and you are spared, go lu my wile and
children. Tell them the Gospel for me. My
great regret Is that I myself put It olT until
too late. Win you, Manasseh?"

Manasseh pressed his friend's hand
warmly. " You may trust me, if I live." he
said simply. And the soldier was satisHed.

*• Manasseh. I am rich," he continued.
" See that my wealth is used for the best."

Manasseh pressed his hand again, and the
tall soldier left him, feeling that, whatever
happened, this young man's fidelity and In-
tegrity could be depended upon.

And now the Moslem army began to weary
of inaction. Several desultory attacks were
made by them, and battering-rams were set
In play against the walls, but with no efl'ct,
until a grand attempt was decided upon.
Night had scarcely faded into morning, and
the rock of Mansela still stood black and
shapeless against a gray sky. when a com-
motion was seen in the Moslem camp. Mo-
hammed's troops no longer made the wild
onslaught of untrained Bedouin hordes. The
experience of scores of engagements had

(aught their leadc the necessity of system;
and now the host Itegan to move in regular
order in three main divlsiouN. Above the
center one floated the sacred flag of the
prophet: to the right waved All's standanl.
a design of the sun; and to the left fluttered
the Black Kagle of Abu Beker's division.

The battle began by an ssault led by Abu
Keker. Scaling-ladders were placeil. and
tlie Moslems swarmed up the wails, but a
desperate band led by Al Hareth met them,
and the Ix'sieging party, after a sharp tlglit.
was compelled to withdn w. Shouts of tri-
umph and jeers of derision arose from the
city walls. The Moslems were frantic, (^ries
of vengeance were heard fronj tlielr raidis.

Then All. shouting, ' For (Jod and the
prophet!" dashed forward. He was dressed
In scarlet, and wore a cuirass of steel. Over
his head he waved the prophet's sword, autl
at the head of his division floated a sacred
banner. Straight on he dashed towards a
breach In the wall, and there, on a pile of
loose stones, he fixed the standard.

Al Hareth rushed to the fore, and a des-
perate, single-handed combat ensueil. The
Moslem army and the garrison of the city
alike held their breath. The ct)nte8t was un-
equal. In a moment Al Hareth had fallen,
and a mighty cheer burst from the prophet's
men.

Manasseh was stationed at tlie head of a
band of horsemen, whom he was now with
dittlcnlty l<eeping in check. Yet for a mo-
ment he forgot all in watching a figure that
was ascending the breach.

Whose but Asru's that gigantic form?
Whose but Asru's that floating turban of
white— that helmet In which flashed a dia-
mond placed there by Kenana's own hand?
Whose but Asru's that clanking sword and
that three-pronged speai which none but he
could wield?

" Surely now the Moslem will waver!"
thought the youth; and with bated breath
he watched this second combat, waged be-
side the bleeding form of Asru's dead
brother.

With dauntless air the Moslem awaited
the coming of Asru. They closed upon each

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

other. Tho armies looked on. motionless,
breathless, tlie combatants stnijrjfied, a
wrlthinf? mass, broken only by the tliish of
the spejir and glitter of the laiuM'. uh dea«lly
blows were dealt or parried — and the sun-
shine rained from almve. The very air
seemed to stand still In watehliiK.. and the
clash of every stroke was borne, with pain-
ful distinctness, to the ears of Akiu's friend.

The combat was an equal one. All's auillty
MUitching well the superior strenjrfh of his
nntajjonlst, and It was not soon over. At
last the Moslem seemed to sta^ijer.

There, there. Asm. strike! He falls, he
falls I There Is your advantage I Strike I
•Toy, Joy I victory Is ours!

But no! Ye gods, what is wrong! Why
stands Asru there, helpless? Why does he
not act? By Allah, he loses tin.e! Ha! his
turban end has become twisted over his eyes
beneath his helmet! Help! Help! Ye gods!
Ha! All rises with a sharp recoil! He
strikes! Woe! Woe! Asru Is down!

A shout breaks afresh from the Moslem
army as the brave Asru's body Is dragged
to one side of the breach. And now the
Moslems dash forward like an avalanclie.
Th<' breach widens: the green and yellow
turl»!iiis swarm within the walls. Matias-
seh's horse dash forward. Over the open
square a detachment of Moslem horse Is
spurring, the horsemen bending low as they
ride, thefr maddened animals, gorgeous in
trappings of scarlet, yellow and blue, with
tails knotted at the ends. " like unto the
heads of son)ents." With regular sway the
long spears swing wltli tl»e motion of the
horses.

Clash! Tlie opposing forces meet. Men
fall. Horses roll over In the dust. Back!
Back! The Moslems are in headlong tllglit!
Yet one youth tights on. Straight for tlie
young Jewish leader he dashes. Blows rain
on each side. Some of the Jewish horse
close round.

" Keep off, men!" shouts Manasseh.
" Would ye attack a man tlfty to one?"

Blows fall faster and breath comes in
short gasps.

The Moslem's horse gives way be-

neath him. and falls with a shriek back-
wanls. The gallant youtli springs to his
feet, then throws uj) his arms and falls. His
turban drops off from his brow, and, for the
first time, Manasseii recognizes Kedar.

He turns sick. Is the Moslem dead? No.
his heart still beats. *• Here. men. take him
into that house. I will s( "k hlra later."

On goes the y<»\mg leader to a fresh sct'iie
of battle. Alas! In tiie meantime the poorly-
nnned Jews have been every wliere driven
back. The Moslems have entered the cita-
del; the Jews give way before them every-
where. lOven his own hopeful spirit <'annot
revive them. Tliey are seized witli a panic
and n.v. leaving the l)rave youth almost
ah)M<>.

Manasseh was soon overpowered, bound,
and tlirown into the corner of a great hall of
the citadel, when* lie lay apparently forgot-
ten, listening, witli lieavy heart, to the
shrieks and cries of his countrymen with-
out, and to the hum of war, gradiially grow-
ing fainter, until it ceased, and he knew that
the conflict was over. Tl'.e Moslems began
to enter tlie hall, among tliem Mohammed.

The prophet took his seat at the end of the
apartment, and presently several of tlie
chief citizens were brouglit In with hands
bound. Manasseh perceived that a trlbuu.-.i
was being held, and, from his corner, list-
ened eagerly to the sentence passed upon
each.

It soon appeared that treasure was the
prophet's aim. Exorbitant demands were
made upon the rich merchants, who, pale
and trembling, otfered their all in exchange
for their lives. Among the rest. Kennna,
with his handsome wife, was brought In.

"They tell me, Kenana." said the prophet.
" that you have Immense wealth stored up
In this citadel. If you desire your life, in-
form me where this treasure is."

*' I have no treasure in the citadel," said
Kenana. proudly: "and if T had, the apostle
of Azazll should not know of it."

The prophet's face colored with passion.
"Apostle of Azazll! O blasphemer!" he ex-
claimed. " Do you then thus defy the only,
the true prophet of Allah?"

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

"I do."
" Tlifii

wt> shall see what can bv doue
with a Htubborii Inll.lel spirit I" roturnt'd
Mohatuined. " Hither! Apply tho torture!"

A machine of
tlcndJMh invention was
apI)Ued to flie chief's
luindH. His tlufftTH
were squeezed until
tlie hones crai ked; his
veins swelled in
aj^'ony; yet no soinul
escaped ids lips. He
could not, or would
not, tell where the
t r e a s u r e was con-
cealed, and he was
handed over to a
Moslem whose
brother Kenana liad
slain. Manasseh
closed his eyes in
horror, for he linew
that Kenana's fate
was sealed.

Kenana's wife, Sa-
flya, was taken by
Mohaninied. and on
tiie homeward march
she became the wife
of the prophet.

Manasseh lay there
In great depression of
spirit. He was weary
in mind and cramped
in body, and it almost
seemed as though he
were completely for-
saken. Yet Ins ever-
present source of com-
fort returned to him,
and like a sweet re-
frain came the words
into his mind: "Thou

hast been a strength to the poor, a strength
to the needy in his distress, a refuge from
the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the
blast of the terrible ones is as a storm
against the wall "

The half-starved Moslem troops now began

to clamor for fofxi, and the defenceless .Jew-
ish wonu'U were forced to prepare victuals
and to serve tiieir conquerors. Among these
wonu'ii entered Zaynali, tlie niece of Asru.

The Moslem's liorse gjves way beneath him!— See page 76.

She placed a shoulder of mutton before the
prophet, then went towards the door. Per-
ceiving Manasseh in the corner, she severed
bis bonds with a quick stroke of a small dag-
ger, then, shielding him as best she might,
she bade him begone. -** ;;ii.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

" Have hope!" she whispered In his ear.
" I have poisoned the prophet."

Slanasseh uttered an exclamation of
hon or.

"Why not?" she said, with a laugh.
" Manasseh fights with a lance, Zaynab with
poison. Now, fly, ere they see you!"

Manasseh hastened down the daric streets
to the house In which Kedar had been
placed. He found the youth moaning feebly.
Hurrying out, he caught a couple of stray
camels, and fastened a shugduf in its place.
Then, raising the youth in his strong arms,
he laid him in the shugduf, and set off in the
darkness.

To Mecca he must go. It was a long, weary
way. He ha<l little money, and the few pro-
visions which a Jewish woman in the house
gave him would not last long; yet he trusted
to Providence, and remembered with satis-
faction that the dates were now at their
ripest. He wou'd nurse Kedar tenderly; they
would journey in the cool shades of night
when there was less danger of being stopped
on the way. Planning thus, he proceeded, as
noiselessly as possible, with his precious bur-
den, through a gap In the wall, and urged
his faithful beasts on in the cool night
breezes over the blackened plain.

Then he thought of Asm. Asm mu^tt not
be left to be rudely thrown into a grave by
infidel liands. There was danger in It, bxit
he must go back. Kedar was sleeping. He
fixed the camels by a charred palm grove,
and went bacli. with flying feet, through tae
gloom. The towers of Al Kamus rose ab've
him, with lights twinkling on the battle-
ments. He wondered if the prophet wore
yet alive and what would be the result to
Arabia if he were dead. On. on, through the
darkness, until the fatal l)reach was readied.
It was quite deserted, peopled only by a
hoap of dead bodies, from which, in the nighv
time, the superstitious Arabs shrank in
liorror. Groping among them, he soon came
upon Asni's huge form, which he readily
recognized by its armor. He dragged the
precious day of his friend from tfte mass of
dead and brought it, with ditflculty, outside
of the wall; and there beneath a palm tree,

he hollowed out a lonely grave, loosening the
clay with a battle-axe taken from a dead
Arab, and throwing the clods out with his
shield. He then cut a wisp of hair from the
dead soldier's long locks, placed it in his
bosom, kissed the cold brow, and utter d a
short prayer over the lifeless form. Tenderly
he placed the body in the shallow grave, and
covered It with the clay, then, breathing a
last farewell, left Asm forever in this life.

In the meantime Mohammed and one of
his followers had begun to eat of the
poisoned mutton. The soldier was ravenous
with hunger, and set upon the tempting
roast with eager relish. Mohammed partook
of it more Slowly.

Suddenly the soldier threw up his arms,
and fell back in a convulsion. Mohammed
started back in consternation. He, too, felt
pain, and raised the cry of "Poison!" The
Moslems came rushing in in great aJarm.
Antidotes wee given him, and he shortly re-
covered, with but a slight sensation of burn-
ing in his head. The poor soldier was soon
stiff in death.

Mohammed sent for the woman who had
brought him the mutton. She came at once.

" Know you who put the poison in this
meat?" he asked.

" It was I," she confessed, boldly.

*' And how dared you perpetrate so wicked
a scheme?"

" If you were a true prophet." she replied,
" you would have known that the meat was
poisoned; if not, it were a favor to Arabia to
rid it of such a despot."

" See then," exclaimed the prophet, " how
Allah hath preserved the life of his apostle!
Behold, I forgive you. Return to your ribe,
and sin not in Ulie manner again."

Sf* saying, with one of his strange freaks
of magnanimity, he waved her off, and soon
afterward went to rest.

1 1

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

CHAPTER XXV.

MANASSEH AND KEDAR AT MECCA.

Home, sweet home."

TIE flame of a smoky
oil-dip dimly lighted
a spacious room in the
house of Amzi. At the
low table sat Yusuf and
his friend with a chart
before them, anxiously
following, with eye and
finger, the course of Mo-
hair! med's northern ex-
ploits.
The thouglits of both
were with Manasseh. A knock sounded at
the bolted door. Yusuf opened it, and there,
like a cameo in the setting of darkness, was
the youth himself.

" Manasseh, my son!" cried both in aston-
ishment.

He stepped in, now laughing, now brush-
ing tears from his eyes. " There!" he said,
freeing himself from their embraces, "I have
one more surprise. I come l!ke a grandee,
bearing my company in a litter. Help me
bring him in."

They stepped out, and Manasseh's second
face, that of Kedar, peered from the curtains
of the shugduf. None the less warm was
the greeting extended to the Moslem, whose
weak and trembling frame was an instant
call upon their sympathy.

'• Now," said Manasseh. piling up a heap of
cushions, in his impetuous way, '* get us
some supper, will you not? I can eat my
own share, and half of Kedar's. Like the
birds, he takes but a peck at a time."

Supper was ordered, and soon attendants
entered bearing .ilatters. until the copper
table was burdened with the most tempting
dishes of Mecca— roast of spiced lamb, slices
of juicy melon and cucumber, pyi'amids of
rice, pomegranates, grapes of Tayf, sweet-
meats, fragrant draughts of coffee.

Kedar watched witli a languid smile. The
peace of this, quiet home life affected him

almost to tears. Strange had been his emo-
tions when he a wo Ice to consciousness in the
shugduf, alone with Manasseh, in the wilder-
ness—feelings first of indignation, then of
gratitude, then of admiration for Manasseh,
in whom he now disc(A'ered the leader of the
Jewish horse. And on the way this ad-
miration had ripened into love for the un-
selfish Jewish youth.

The weariness of the long journey began
to tell upon him now, and he was glad that
he was among friends. He could eat but lit-
tle, and was content to listen to Manasseh's
bright talk, and to watch him as, with flash-
ing eye and eloquent gesture, he fought over
again the Battle of Khaibar, or when, with
hushed lone and tearful eye, he told of the
death of Asm, and hi.s lonely burial.

" I must seek his widow and his children,"
said he. "This is ^11 I have brought them;"
and he dr^v the tangled, blood-stained lock
of hair from his bosom.

Silence fell on the little group as they
looked upon it. then Yusuf's tones, falling
like the low, deep cadence of a chant, re-
peated the words:

" And there shall be no more curse, but the
throne of God and of the Lamb vshnll be in
i.; and his servants shall serve him. And
they sliall see his face: and his name shall be
in their foreheads. And tliere shall be no
night there; and they need no candle, neither
light of the sun; for the liOrd God giveth
tiiem light; and they shall reign forever and
forever."

"Amen!" responded Amzi, fervently. And
Manasseh looked out of the window towards
the bright heavens above Abu Kubays,
imagining that he could see Asm, clad in
shining apparel, with a happy smile on his
lips, and the courageous eyes of old looking
forth with a new love-light from his radiant
countenance.

" Do you know his family?" he asked.

*' Ah, yes; they are now regular attendants
at the Christian church. Tiiey have de-
stroyed all their househ )ld gods."

"Wlitit!" exclaimed Manasseh. "is this
true! How I wish Asm had known it! What
joy It would have given hi ml"

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Amzi smiled. " Dare you think. Manasseh,
that lie does not liuow it longc ere tliis,— that
he did not know it even at the breach of
Khaibar/ I like to think that our Asru now
has a spiritual Iwdy wholly independent of
\\\i\e or space, capable of ti unsporting itself
whenever and wherever the mind dictates."

" We cannot know tliese things as they
are, in this time." remarked Yusuf. " But
the day is not very far distant now, Amzi,
when you and I shall explore those mys-
teries for ourselves."

So the talk went on. Kedar listened with
interest. He thought it a curious couersa-
tion, and felt so strangely out of place that
it seemed as tliough he were dreaming, and
listening to the talk of genii.

Next morning he was in a decided fever.
Then came long days of pain and nights of
delirium, in which Manasseh and his two
friends hovered like mini'stering spirits about
the youth, whose wounds had healed only to
give place to disease far more deadly. In
those terrible nights of burning heat his
parched tongue swelled so thai he could
scarcely swallow; he tossed in agony, now
fancying himself chained to a rock unable to
move, while the prophet urged him on to the
heights above where the battle was raging;
now imagining himself fastened near a burn
Ing furnace whose flames weva fed by tii'
bodies of tiiose Avhom he had slain. He
v«'ould cry out in terror, and beads of per-
spiration would start upon his forehead. He
lived the whole war over again, and his only
rest was at times when, partially conscious.
he felt kindly liands placing cool bandages
on his burning head, or gently fanning hi.«i
face.

The time at last came when he sank into a
heavy sleep, and awoke calling " Mother."

Jt was Manasseh who came, almost
startled by (he naturalness of tlie tone.

" I have been very ill, Manasseh?"

" Very."

"Long?" : ; T;r ; ,.

" For weeks. But you must not talk. You
will soon be well now."

'J he invalid closed his eyes, not to sleep,
but to think. Presently he opened them.

" Manasseh, if I had died, would I have
seen Asru?"

Manasseh was embarrassed. " I— I cannot
say," he stammered. " I do not know you
well enough to be sure."

" You do not think I should. I do not think
so either," he returned decidedly, and closed
his eyes again.

In a few days he v/as able to talk.

" Manasseh, did I hear Yusuf praying for
me once when I was ill?"

" He prayed for you every day,— not only
that you might be spared to us, but that you
might come to know Jesus, and to reject Mo-
hammed."

" I do not tliink that I ever accepted him—
tliat is, in a religious sense," he returned.

Manasseh's eyes opened wide in astonish-
ment. "Then why did you follow him?" he
asked.

''■ Because, I suppose, his successes dazzled
me. It seemed a grand thing to be a hero in
the war— to ride, and charge, and drive all
before me. Aye, Manasseh, it is after the
war that the scales fall from one's eyes."

" How could you, then, follow one whom
you did not accept, and must, therefore, have
deeuM'd an impostor?"

" 1 tell you, Manasseh, I gave little heed
to matters of religion. For the first time,
during the last few days, I have thought of
a religious life, or of a hereafter, as I lay
h<?re feeling that but for you and your
friends. I should even now be in the un-
known land beyond the grave."

Manasseh talked long and earnestly to the
now convalescent youth. Yusuf and Amzi
too talked gently to him when he seemed in-
clined to lipar, I)ut. in liis present weak state,
they deemed that the consciousness of living
in a godly house would appeal more strongly
than words of theirs. The weeks passed on,
yet he gave no indication that their hopes
were being realized. Once indeed he said:

" Manasseh, would that I had had a godly
training such as yours!" -— -^-r -—

" pid your mother not tell you of these
things?"

Kedar shook his head. " My poor mother
drifted away from her early training In our

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

half-heathen Bedouin atmosphere." he said.
" The Bedouins Itnow little of Christ. They
have traditions of the creation, of the
deluge, and such old-time storic-s; in all else
they are almost heathen. When I am well.
Manasseh, we will go to them— to my father
—and you will tell them, Manasseh?"

Manasseh nodded a smiling assent.

It was with no little trepidation that Yusuf
and Amzi watched for some sign of spiritual
growth in the young Bedouin. As the days
wore on, and he was able to get about,
though still weak, he was willing to atten<l
the Christian meetings; but he sat in silence,
and persisted in wearing the garb of a Mos-
lem. The friends did not understand his at-
titude. They did not recognize the sort of
petulant shamefacedness that hindered him
from coming forth boldly in defence of prin-
ciples which he fully endorsed in his secret
heart, and made him fear to cut himself
loose from the side on which he hud talien
so bold a stand, lest the epithet of " turn
coat," be fixed upon him. Kedar had not
yet been touched by that " live coal " whicli
alone can set man in touch with God, and
free him from all human restrictions. But
though he said littk, he was thinlcing deeply.
He was not indifferent; and there is ever
great room f(jr liope where there is not indif-
ference.

And while the little Moccan household
was thus engrossed in its (twn circle, mo-
mentous events were happening without
tlie capital.

CHAPTER XXVI.

INTERVENING EVENTS.

URING the months
that followed, Mo-
hammed still went
on in his career of
conquest— a course
rendered easier day
by day, as his ene-
mies were now
weak Indeed. The tribes of Watiba. Sela-
lima and Bedr speedily gave way before

him, but were permitted to remain in tlielr
homes upon the payment of a heavy yearly
tribute.

He made one more pilgrimage to Mecca,
and on this occasion the Koreish, in accord-
ance with the truce, ofiCered no resistance:
hence for three days the prophet and his
shaven followers walked the streets of
Mecca, and performed Tawaf at the Temple.

Mohammed found the Caaba still dese-
crated by Idols, and, while pressing his lips
to the sacred Black Stone, he solemnly
vowed to conquer Mecca and to remove the
pollution of images from the floor of the
sanctuary.

In the meantime, the itrophet enticed many
of the most prominent fauulies of Mecca to
his standard. By his marriage with the aunt
of Klialed Ibn Waled he secured the alliance
of that famous soldier; and by marrying
0mm Habiba, daughter of Abu Sofiau, he
hoped to gain the friendship of hi.^ ancient
and inveterate enemy.

But time seemed to lag, and his restless
spirit soon set Itself to look about for some
l)retext by which he miglit attack Mecca. A
casual skirmish of a few soldiers of the
Koreish with a detachment of his soldiers
gave the necessary excusv\ and he at once
charged the Koreisli with Jiaving broken the
truce. They were anxious to make overtures
of peace, but Mohammed would listen to
nothing.

All saw plainly tliat no concessions would
conciliate a conqueror thus bent upon hos-
tility, and the attitude of Mecca became that
of a patient waiting, a dread looking for a
surely impending calamity ready to fall at
any hour.

And yet. when it did come, the Meccans
were not expecting it, so silent, m) sudden
was the swoop of the con<iueroP; Every road
leading to Mecca was barrorl by Mohammed,
so that none might tell of ids plans. All his
allies received a mysterious summons to
meet him at a point some distance from
Mecca, and they came none the less readily
that tliey did not know why they were thus
asMcniljled.

With a host of ten thousand men, Moham-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

med set out over the barren plains, and
through the deflles of the mountains. Like
a vast funeral procession the long train
wound its way in a silence broken only by
the dull tread of the beasts and the whis-
pered ejaculations of the soldiers. In the
night they reached the appointed valley.
Lines of men came pouring in from every
side, and at last, as a signal to all the rest,
Omar, the chief in command, gave the order
that the watch-fires be lighted,— and at once
every summit sent up its spire of flame.

The citizens of Mecca were stricken with
awo.

" I myself will go and see what this
n>€'ans," said Abu Sofian; and with a single
companion he set out over the hills. As they
stood in sight of the great host below, the
step of men sounded near them. They were
soizetl as spies, and hurried off to the tent of
Omar.

The bright light of Omar's camp-fire re-
vealed the white hair and flashing eye of the
grim old warrior.

"By the prophet of Allah! Ye have
bi-ouglit in a rich prize!" exclaimed Omar,
and his dagger flashed in the firelight as he
drew it to plunge into Abu Sofian's bosom.
But deliverance was near. Out from the
darkness galloped Al Abbas, uncle of Mo-
hammed, mounted on the prophet's white
mule. He caught the Meccan up with him,
and hastened off to the tout of the prophet.

" Ha!" exclaimed Moliammed. " you have
come at last, Abu Soflan, to acknowledge the
supremacy of the prophet of Allah?"

" I come," said Abu Soflan surlily. " to beg
mercy for my people."

"Will you. then, acknowledge AJ ;tmmed
as the prophet of God? Do this. X\m Soflan,
and thy life .nhall be spared, and terms of
peace granted to all Me(«.<ns who are will-
ing to follow their leader's »-xample. "

Abu Soflan stive a surly •ssent, and was
set free. F-voiable terms for the inhabit-
ants of the city were t^en Resented to him;
»nd, tliat he might ^. aMe to tak* back with
Mm a full account of tlie strengiMl of the
pn<^?iM»t's army, b* «ra« placed with Al
A Mmm at the head of a narrow defile,

through which the whole army, with flutter-
ing banners and proudly flapping standards,
passed before him.

Even the stern old wariior stood aghast at
the mighty multitude. He returned to the
city, and, from the roof of the Caaba, once
more assembled the people of Mecca. Then,
while they listened, with bowed heads and
heaving sobs, he told them of the great host,
of the uselessness of resistance, and of the
terms ottered in case of submission. To this
course, humiliating as it was, he strongly
urged them. Silent in despair, or weeping
wildly, they returned to their homes, and
that night the darkness which fell seemed
like a pall upon the stricken city.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE TRIUMPHANT ENTRANCE INTO MECCA.

" One murder made a vil-
lain; millions, a hero." —
I'orteus.

PON the following morn-
ing ere the sun rose, a
deputation was sent to
the prophet to inform
him that his terms had
been accepted.

The people of Mecca
were curious to note the
Li y^^^ triumphant entrance of

■'''^^ the great conqueror.

Many, indeed, threw themselves upon their
fac»i« in agony of lost hope; but the house-
tops SAvarmed with people, and the side of
Abu Kubays was moving with a dense
crowd of women and children, who, at a
safe distance, watched for the strange
pageant.

The prophet was allowed to enter the bor-
ders of the town unmolested, but \s hen the
deserter, Khated Ibn Waled, appeared, the
rage of the Koreish knew no bo' '"' ■; n howi
of derision iirose, and an u: •:'>v<T;uih.' : rv i)
fired straight upon him wuh tl. i/- arrniA?.
Khaletf dashed uiwn V '^nx wii; ;; •< .'c vaLl
lance, but Molmmmec., noting .i..^ xiumo-
tion, ra^K «p and ordered him to deslr f.

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

The mC'K^e subsided, and, just as the sun
rose over Abu Kubnys, the conqueror en-
tered the city. He was habited in scarlet,
and mounted upon a large Syrian camel;
and, as he rode, followed by the whole host
o< his army, he repeated aloud passages from
the Koran.

Straight on towards the Caaba he went,
looking neither to right nor to left. Its gates
were thrown opt'n before him, and the vast
procession, with the prophet at its head, per-
formed Tawaf about the temple. Then, ere
the mighty trampling ceased, Mohammed
entered the Caaba— that Caaba in which he
had been spat upon and covered with mud
thrown by derisive hands. Little wonder
that he felt his triumph complete!

Three hundred and sixty idols still stared
from the walls of the temple, and, ere night
fell, not an image remained to pollute an
edifice in which, if in ever so blind a man-
ner, the name of the living God had been
once mentioned.

Mohammed then took his stand upon the
little hill Al Safa, and gave the command
that every man, woman, and child in Mecca,
save those detained by illness, should pass
before him.

Kedar found his weakness a suflicient
reason for remaining at home, but Yusuf,
Amzi, and Manasseh were forced to join the
long procession.

One by one, the inhabitants knelt before
the victor, renouncing idolatry and declaring
their fealty to him as their governor and
spiritual head. But a few among the Chris-
tian Jews refused to acknowledge him as the
prophet of God.

" As conqueror we accept you," they said;
" as subjects we will obey you in all that
does not interfere with our worship of the
true God, and his Son, the Cln'ist, But as
Mohammed prophet of God, we will not ac-
knowledge you."

The pr^)phet^ however, was In a lenient
frame of mind. At no time a cruel tjraut
when victory was onct assured,, he was still
less inclined to be so upon a day when every-
tliing augured so favorably for the future.
Moreover, when it seemed to him practica-

ble, Mohammed delighted in showing mercy.
This trait is but one of the incomprehensible
features of his strange, contradictory char-
acter.

"So be it," he returned, graciously. "I give
you your lives and property. They are a
gift fi-om the prophet ye despise. Yet, lest
ye be stirrers up of sedition, I enjoin you to
leave the city with what expedition ye will.
Go where ye please, provided it be out of
my dominions; take what time ye need to
settle your affairs, and dispose of your
property; then, in the name of Allah. I bid
you good speed."

The Jews, among them Yusuf and Amzi,
passed thankfully on. A tall, gaunt. Bedouin
woman, with flashing eyes and hands show-
ing like the claws of a vulture beneath her
black robe, came next. It was Heuda in dis-
guise.

" What!" exclaimed the prophet, with a
smile, " has Abu Solian taken to the hills
again, that his wife thus comes in Bedouin
garb?"'

Henda, seeing that her disguise was pene-
trated, fell at liis feet imploring for pardon.

*' I forgive you freely," he said, raising her
to her feet. " You will now acknowledge
your prophet?"

" Never!" cried the Koroish woman.

"Boldly said!" returned Mohammed. "Tlie
wife of Abu Soflan doth not readily follow in
the path of her master. He has trained her
but poorly. Yet. go In peace, O daughter of
the Korelsh, and know that the prophet of
Islam has a merciful heart."

Thus passed the whole long day until the
stars shone through the blue; and Moham-
med went to rest, serene in his triumph, yet
troubled by bodily pain, for. ever since he
had eaten the poisoned mutton at Khaibar,
his health had been steadily declining.

In a few days he returned to Medina. A
frosh revelation of the Koran, commending
fully his doctrine of the sword, was there
proclaimed from the mosque; and to Khaled
was given the *ask of subjugating the re-
maining tribes.

'J'lio prophet's health now began to give
way raj)idly, and he resolved upon a laat pil-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

grimaf?e to the holy city. In the montli
Kamadhan, at the heart of one hunrtred
thousand men, the mightiest expedition he
had ever led, he started for Mecca. He rode
In a litter, and about him were liis nine
wives, also seated in litters; while, at the
rear of the procession, trudged a great array
of camels destined for sacritiee. and gayly
decorated witli ribbons and flowers.

About a day's journey from Mecca, at twi-
light, the vast host met tlie troops of Ali, re-
turning from an expedition into Yemen, and
these Immediiitely turned with the pilgrim-
age. It was a weird and impressive scene.
In the night, the augmented host now
pressed onward, with increased impatience,
over a plain strewn with basaltic drift. The
soft thud of padded feet sounded over the
hard ground. Huge camels loomed shape-
lessly through the uncertain haze. No voice
of mirth or singing arose from the vast
assemblage, but the ni.^ht-wind sighed
through the ribs of the scant-leaved acacias
above, and stooped to blow the red flames of
the torches back in a smoky glare; while,
here and there, a more pretentious light.
Issuing from between the curtains of a shujjj-
dvif. shed a passing gleam upon the dusky
;';;;. IS of the pilgrims, ploddjng like eerie
genii of the night over tlie Ijarren wilds.

Next morning, the host reached Mecca.
The prophet once more entered tlie sacred
court-yard of the temple, and was borne
sadly about the Caaba in Tawaf. Tlien.
weak as he was, he insisted upon taking part
in the sacrificial ceremony. With his own
hand he slew sixty-three camels, one for
each year of his life. Then he ascended the
pulpit and preached to the people.

Upon his return to Medina, he preached
again from the mosque, en.loining upon the
faithful strict compliance with th(» form of
worship set forth in the Koran and by the
exani|»le of the prophet— the giving of alms;
prayer towards tlie kebla; tlic performniicc
of Tawaf. and ablutions at Zem-Zem; pros-
tration prayers at the Caaba, and all the
rites of pilgrimage. Thus did Mohammed
formulate the rules for the future guidance
of the Moslem vorld.

CHAPTEIl XXVTII.
KEDAR AT THE C. BA.

NCE more the shades of night
hung over the Eastern world.
And there, while the hush of
slumber fell upon the hills of
the North, the cities of the
South awoke to life and bus-
tle, for during the earlier half
of the hours of darkness the Ori-
ental awakes from the lethargy of
the day, and really begins to live.
The moon, almost at full, and glowing like
a silver orb on a purple sea, rose slowly over
the black top of Abu Kubays, tipping its
crest with a shimmering line of light, and
throwing its radiance across the vale below,
where all lay shapeless in shade save the
top of the huge temple, which, with its pall-
like kiswaii (.urtain) arose like a bier above
the low himses about it. Upon it the moon-
beams fell with solemn, white light, and the
young man standing alone by one of the pil-
lars of the portico felt a thrill of awe as he
looked upon the mysteriouH structure, and
thought of the great antiquity of the institu-
tion.

For the moment, lost in contemplation, he
was oblivious to the swarnung of the dusky
multitudes now pouring into the court-yard
on all sides. Then, as the increasing hum
fell upon his ears, he gave them his atteu
tiou. It was the scene of which he had so
often heard, and upon which he now looked
for the first time. There were the people at
Tawaf, walking, running, or standing with
upturned eyes, sanctlnionio«isly repeating
passages of the Koran; there were the fran-
tic few clinging to the great ftrids of the
Iclswah, as tliough its contact procure<l for
tlieui eternal salvation: there were the
crowds gulping down copious draughts of
the brackish water of Zem-Zem, or pouring
It upon their heads.

There, too, wiilun a stone's throw of the
t( mpte, wer" the busy stalls of the venders,
when»t; issaed cries of:
"Cucnrobers! Cucumlxrs O!"
"Gr.'ipesl Crapes!- hiscious and juicy

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

wfth the crystal dews of Tayf! Grapes. O
faithful!"

" Who will buy cloth of Daniasrns. rich
and fit for a kingV Come, buy thy lady a
veil! Buy a veil to
screen her charms
blooming as the rosy
light of morn, to
screen her hair black
as midnight shades on
the liills of Nejd, and
her eyes sparkling
like diamonds of
Oman!"

" O water! Precious
water from Zem-
Zem! Water to wash
away thy sin, and
help thee into Para-
dise! O beli«n'or, buy
water of Zem-Zem!"

And there, beneath
the twinkling lights
of the portico, sat a
group of Abyssinian
girls, waiting to be
sold ns slaves.

As tlio yontli looked
upon it all witli no lit-
tle curiosity he ob-
served the crowd give
way before a man
clothed wholly in
white, who procei'dod
directly to the 0(i»llta
and, pausing benoalli
the drtor. gave utt«>i'
ance to a loud prayer,
while the people
about fell prostrate
OB the ground. Then,
in a \nm\ voice, he
commanded that the
stair be brought. At-
tendants hastened to roll the bulky structure
into its place, and the priest, or guardian of
the temple, ascended, and received from his
attendants several buckets of water which
he carried into the edifice.

Presently, small streams began to trickle

from the doorway, and the guardian's white
vestments again appeared, as he proceeded
to sweep the water out, dashing it far over
the steps. The people rushed beneath it,

" Be not discouraged, my son," was Usuf s reply.— See page 37.

crowding over one another in their anxiety,
holding their upturned faccg towards it, and
counting themselves blessed tf a drop of it
fell upon them. It was the ^-eremony of
washing the Caaba.
The youth beside the pillar, though he

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

wore Moslem garb, looked on in contempt;
and, barely waiting for the conclusion of the
ceremony, walked proudly from the enclos-
ure, merely pausing to examine somewhat
critically the Black Stone, which, deserted
for the moment, was visible in the red light
of a torch above. Then, passing through the
nearest gate, he walked, rather feebly, to-
wards the house of Amzi.

Yusuf, wearied after a long day's work,
was resting upon the carpeted Masta-
bah (platform) which forms a part of tlie
vestibule of every comfortable house in
Mecca. There was no light in the apartment
save that afforded by the dim glimmer of a
flre-pan, over which bubbled a fragrant urn
of coffee. His thoughts had been wandering
back over the events of his changeful life;
events which would culminate, as far as his
Immediate history was concerned, in Ids
early banishment from this city of his adop-
tion. The little Jewish band would go to-
getlier— precisely where, they did not know,
—Amzi, Manasseh, the family of Asru, a few
other devoted souls, and, it was to be hoped,
Kodar.

Yusuf s thoughts dwelt upon Kedar. To-
night he seemed to feel a sweet assurance
that his prayers in the youth's behalf were
soon tj be answered; and, in the darkness,
he 'lied out for the lad's salvation, until
the blessed Lord seemed so near tliat he al-
most fancied he coidd put forth his hand
and feel the strong, loving, helping touch of
Him who said, " I am the good shepherd,
and know my sheep, and am known of mine.
. . And other sheep I have, which a'e not
of this fold; them also I must bring; and
they shall hear my voice; and there shall be
CUP fold, and onf .-sliepherd."

A step sounded on tin- door-stofte. and the
vi»ry yt .^ of whom Yusuf was thinking en-

"Well, my Kedar." said the prlesf, "have
you been enjoying the nioonT

"I have been to the Caaba." returned Ke
dnr. with amused contempt in his voice,
"yet I have neither swung by the kiswah
nor drenched myself, like a rain-draggled
hen, at Zem-Zena."

" And you have not kissed the Black
Stone?"

" Neither have I kissed the stone. By my
faith, if it has become blackened by the
kiss of sfnners, those poor simpletons caress
it in vain! On the word of a Bedouin, it can
Iiold no more, since it Is as black as well
may be already."

" The worship of our little church, then,
suits you better?" The priest's tone scarcely
concealed the anxiety with which he asked
the question.

" You seem to worship in truth," returned
the youth, solemnly. " You seem to find a
comfort In your service which these poor
blindlings seek in vain. Aye, Yusuf, in liv-
ing among you I have noted the peaceful
tenor of your lives, the rest and confidence
which nothing seems to overthrow. You re-
joice in life, yet you do not fear death!
Could such a life be mine, I would gladly ac-
cept it. But I do not seem to be one of you."

The priest made no reply for a moment.
Kedar did not know that he was praying for
the fit word. Then his deep, tender tones
broke the silence.

" You believe in .Tesus, whom we love?"

" I believe that he was the Son of God;
that he lived on tlie very hills to the uorlli
of us; that he died to reveal to us the great-
ness of his love. Yet—" He paused.

" ' Whosoever believeth on the Son hath
everlasting life,' " said Yusuf in a low tone.

" I know, but—" the youth hesitated again.

" Hut what, Kedar?" asked the priest.

".Tesus said to Nicodemus," returned the
youth, " ' Except a man be born again, he
cannot see the kingdom of lieaven.' Yusuf,
this is what bothers me, I cannot under-
stand this being born again." ' ^ .

"Let us call it, then, just 'beginning to
love and trust .Tesus,' " said Yusuf quietly.

Kedar almost started in his surprise. This
aspect of the question had never appeared
to hhn bt'fore. For a long time he sat, deep
tn thought, and Yusuf did not break in upon
his meditations.

" Is that alir' he asked at length. ,

" That is all.' returned Yusuf. " To trust
him you must believe in liim. love him,

iat&rtifWllitii"-Nai'-h

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

recognize his love, and leave everything to
his guidance— everything In this physical
life, In your spiritual life, and in the life to
come. Then you will find peace. All your
days will be spent in a loving round of
happy labor, in which no worli seems low or
trifling— happy because love to Jesus begets
the wish to do his will in every affa'.r of life:
and perfect love renders service, not n bond-
age, but the joyful spontaneity of freedom."

Kedar was again silent, then he said
slowly:

" Yu«uf. I begin to understand it all now:
yet — is there something wrong still? — I
have not *he overpowering tlnill of joy, the
exuberance of feeling, tlie wondrous rapture
of delight, which Amzi says he experienced,
when, in the prison of Medina, he saw the
light."

" Be not discouraged, my son," was the
reply. " To different temperaments, in re-
ligion as in all else, the trutli appeals In dif-
ferent ways. If you are trusting implicitly
now in (Jod's love, go on without doubt
or fear. Most Christians — growing Chris-
tians—find that at different stages in their
experience certain truths stand out more
clearly, and, as the days fio by, their dlffl-
cnlties clear away like mists before the
morning sun."

" Yusuf. can I ever become such a Chris-
tian as you?' returned Kedar, In a half-awed
tone at the thought.

" My son. look not on me." returned Yusuf,
tenderly. " Strive only to perceive .Tesus in
rll your life, to find him a reality to you— a
companon, ever with you, walking by your
side ivi the hot mart, riding by you in the
des^:-*^, sitting by you in solitude.— then,
where he Is, evil cannot come. Your life
will become all upright, conscientious, and
loving, for his life will show through yours."

" And do temptations never come to those
so blessed?"

" Ah, yes. Kedar. so long as life lasts ' our
adversary, the devil, goeth about as a roar-
ing lion seeking whom he may devour.' Yet,
think you that the God who ' stretdietli out
tlie heavens as a curtain, who layeth the
beams of his chambers in the waters, who

maketh the clouds his chariot, who walketh
upon the wings of the wind, who maketh
his ang(>ls spirits, his ministers a flaming
tire '— tldnk you that such an One Is not able
to stand between you and the tempter?
Think you that he before wliom devils cried
out In fear, is not able to deliver you from
the power of evil? Kedar, know that tlie
Clu'lstian may even glory in his own weak-
ness, for .Tesus lias said, ' My strength is
made perfect In weakness;' and yet. while
thus feeling his lielpiessness. tiie believer
must ever be conscious of the unconquer-
able strength of Christ, and should rest
serene in tlie knowledge that, clothed In the
full arnu»r of God, he Is able to withstand
all the darts of the wicked one."

1 (dar said no more, but from that hour
his humility, his patience, his gentleness, be-
gan to show forth as the outcome of the
jiower of that working of tlie Spirit, whose
fruit is " love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gen-
rleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temper-
ance."

CHAPTER XXIX.

KEDAR RETURNS TO HIS HOME.

" Death exempts not a man from being but only
presents an alteration."— i/acora.

HEN Kedar left
Yusuf on that
memorable night
it was not to sleep.
He ascended the
stair and went out
upon the hanging
balcony, where he
^ could look at the sky and
the mountains, and ponder
over the conversation of the evening. His
was not the excitable, rapturous joy experi-
enced by many, but a feeling of quiet con-
tentment that settled upon his soul, and
brouglit a calm smile to his features.

So he sat, when Manasseh burst upon him
exclaiming, " What! my Invalid able to stay
up all the night as well as half the day!
Come, listen to me! I have news!" - ,

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

" YoH?" -'J' ' ■' ' ' ' '' •■'!■■ •■'■' -i

" This evenlnp n oonHor from MofUna ar-
rived In the city. He hns with him n prochi-
tnatlon requiring all unsuhmlsslve Jews to
leave Mecca by to-morrow nljjht at the
latest."

*' Po soon!" exclaimed Kedar. " Where
are tin . to go?"

"I have just talked witli Ynsnf. and with
Amzl, who, poor fat man! Ik trying to get a
little sleep In the fr* li air of tlic housetop.
They propose that wt- join my father's fam-
ily In Palestine. Of course. I do not ob-
ject!" added the yonth. with a smile.

"Think you it will be safe for so small a
band to face the dangers of the desert
alone?" asked Kedar.

*' A caravan loaves for Danuiscus to-mor-
row," replied Manassch. " Fortunately we
may obtain its protection."

"Good! Then I slmll turn aside to the
table-lands of Nejd and see my parents
again," said Kednr.

" Think you your parents would join our
band?"

Kedar shook his head. " Not likely. You
see my father has lived all his days as a
Bedouin. To be tied down to commerce he
would consider a degradation. Neither
would he become a shepherd, a watching
sheep is a tas;k held tit for women only in
our tribe."

" And will you stay with thorn, Kedar?"
asked INIanasseh.

*' I know not. We will see what the future
has In store; but, at any rate," he added,
half slyly, " your cousin Kedar will wear the
Moslem turban no more."

The tone, ratlier than the words, told all.
Manasseh took a quick, sharp loolc at the
face smiling quietly in the moonlight, then
he seized Kedar's hand warmly and whis-
pered, " I am glad."

The following day was spent In packing
and bidding adieux. Yusuf and Amzl passed
the last hours among their poor, and, from
the housetop, Kedar and Manassen saw them
retm*ning In the evening, followed by a
ragged crowd who clung to vheir govv'ns or
wiped tearful eyes with tattered sleeves. i

The sun went down as the caravan left
the city, and on an eminence al>ove. the little
Jewish band stojijjed t<» take a last look at
their old home— Mecca, with Its low houses,
its crooked streets, its mystic Caaba, and Its
weird mountain scenery.

All gray it lay beneatli the shades of fall-
ing night; yet, as they looked, a wondrous
change ensued. Gradually the landsf^ape be-
gan to brighten; the houses shone forth; the
aloe trees l)ecame green; tlie side of Abu
Kul)ays sparkled with a seemingly self-
endtted light; the rocks of the I'ed mountain
were dyed with u rosy glow; the Caaba grew
more and more distinct, until even the
folds of its kiswah were visible; and the
sand of the narrow valley shone, beneath a
saffron sky above, with a coppery radiance.
It was the wondrous "after-glow" of the
Orient,— a scene unhjue in Its beauty, yet not
often beheld In so sheltered a spot as Mecca.

The exiles, with tearful eyes, looked upon
the fair landscape, which thus seemed to l)id
them an Inanimate farewell. Then, as the
glow paled and the rocks again took their
sombre hue, and the city faded in redoubled
shadow% the little band turned slowly away,
and followed in the wake of the caravan
now winding through tlie pass at some dis-
tance.

Tlie Hebrew band consisted of twenty
souls, among whom were Sherali, the daugh-
ter of Asm, and her mother, and the old
white-haired man Benjarain, who had
preached in the church and had l>ecome a
father Indeed to Asru's family.

Needless to speak of the long, tedious jour-
ney. Suflice It to say that, wldle the cara-
van wound through the north of El Hejaz,
Kedar and Manasseh turned aside to the
fresher plateaux of the Nejd, and the Be-
douin once more found himself amid the
scenes of his boyhood

His spirits rose as the cool breeze from the
plains struclc him. The vision of swoet
home — sweet to the roving Bedouin as to
the pampered cliild of luxury— rose before
him, and he urged his horse on with an ever-
increasing anxiety.

From neighboring tribes they found out

THE PAYS OF MOHAMMED.

the way to Musa'H i»i<'s«>nt ciK'niupuuMif.
then, 8{)urrini; th<>ir horses on over a criHii
plnln, and b<>^uUing the time with ninny a
lauitjh and jost, they proceodrd In the dlr«*c-
tion lndl( sited, until, ii a broad valley, the
circle of U'Qts lay before them.

" Come, Manasseh," huUI Kedar, " let uk
give them a surprise. Let us take n tm-n up
yonder hill and swoop down upon them like
a fakt»n."

"Agreed!" quoth Manasseh; and, with al-
most childish pleasure, they proceeded to
make a short detour, and then iralloped rap-
Idly down from the hill-crest.

The encampment was strangely nuit t.

"What Is the matter, Manassel V" asked
Kedar. " There Is scarcely anyone about."

A few dogs now set v;p a savage barking,
and a man came out with a heavy whip and
drove them, yelping, away.

" What Is wrong, Tema?" asked Kedar,
anxiously.

"Alas, my young master." said the man.
"your father will soon be no more.''

The youth sprang to the gioiuul and en-
tered tl »» chief's tent. There lay the brave
old Sheikh, dying, as he had scorned to die,
In his bed, with pallid face and closed eyt»K,
his gray hair damp and tangled, and iiis
grizzled beard descending upon his brawny
chest, from which the folds of his garments
were drawn back. About him knelt his wife
and children. Lois raised a tear-staiu-d
face to her sou, then buried it again in iier
hands. Kedar threw himself beside the
couch. The old man's lips moved.

" Aha!" cried lie. " it is blood-revenge!
Miznl, bold chief, I have you now! Yes, fly
up to your eyrie among the roclJ^^s. if you can.
I shall reach you there! Blood must be
spilled. My honor! My lionor!"

He was thinking of a fray of his youth in
which he had paid the dues of blood for an
only brother. Again, he seemed to be dash
ing on in the chase. >; ; . . .,,;•;

" On. on, Zebe!" he cried. In a hoarse whis-
per, "on. good steed! Tli<' quarry is ahead
there! See the falcon swoop! Good steed,

on!"

■■«>:««.■-„»/

.( .i

His voice was growing fainter, yet he

continued to wave his arms feebly, and to
move hl!> lips in inaudible muttering. Once
more the words became distinct:

" Here. Kedar. little man! Let father put
you on his horse. Ther»-. boy, here! You
will make a son for a Bedouin to be proud
of!"

A tear rolled down Kedar's cheek as the
dying man thus pictured n happy scene of
his childhood. " I'oor old father!" he mur-
mured. " Manasseh, It is hard to see him
die thus godlessly. Had I but come sooner!"

The oid Sheikh's breath came shorter. His
hand moved more feebly; he turned his head
uneasily and opened his eyes.

He fixed them upon his son with a look of
consciousness. His face brightened.

" Dear fatlier," whispered the youth, and
kissed his heek.

A t^mWe spread over the old man's face.
His lips formed the words " My s*>u!" His
eyes closed, and the old Bedouin was dead.

The women broke Into a low wall, and
Kedar, with a tenderness not of the old time,
strove to comfort his mother. The rites of
anointing the body for Imrlal were per-
formed, and all through the evening f'le dif-
ferent members of the tribe gathered mourn-
fully in to take a last look at the brave old
leader.

When night fell Kedar went out; the at-
mosphere of the tent seemed to choke him.
Manasseh stood silently by his side. The
wail of the women sounded in a low burial-
song from within, and groups of men, talli-
Ing in whispers, gathered before the door.

Kedar stood with folded arms and head
thrown back, looking upon tlie heavens. A
star fell. Every Bedouin bowed his head,
for the Arabs believe that when a star falls
a soul ascends to paradise.

" Manasseh," said Kedar in a low tone, " I
cannot let them bury him. They would do
it with half-heathen rites."

"Can none amo':^ all these conduct Chris-
tian service?"

" Not one. My mother is the only one who
knows aught of Christianity."

"Then." said Manasseh. "if you will let
me, I shall offer prayers above his grave."

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23 WIST MAIN STREIT

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

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" No, Manasseh," said Kedar decidedly,
" these people would resent it iu a stranger.
I shall do it; they will ^raut me the privilege
as the right of a son."

" And rightly," exclaimed Manasseh, sur-
prised and pleased at the staunchness with
which his cousin took his new stand.

On the following day the funeral wound
slowly up the defile to the place of the lonely
grave. And there Kedar prayed simply and
earnestly, a prayer in which the spiritual en-
lightenment of the sorrowful people about
him was the chief theme. They did not un-
derstand all its meaning, but tliey were im-
pressed by the solemnity and sinf?erity of the
young Arab's manner.

Then the little heap of sand was raised,
and four stone slabs were placed, according
to Bedouin custom, upon the grave.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE DEATH OF MOHAMMED.

" Nothing can we call our own but deatb "Shake-
speare.

HILE Musa thus
lay dying in the
tents of Nejd, the
cold hand of death
was fast closing
upon another in
the land of Ara-
bia. Day by day
the germs of dis-
ease pulsed
stronger and stronger through the veins of
Mohammed. Monarch of Arabia, originator
of a creed which was eventually to push it-
self throughout Egypt, India, Afghanistan,
Persia, and even to the wild steppes of
Siberia, he must now die. He viewed the
end with firmness, and it has been a matter
of controversy as to whether in these later
days he still had the hallucination of being
a prophet.

Too feeble to walk to tlie mosque, he lay,
tended by his wives, in tlie tent of Ayesha,
his favorite. Not many days before his
death he asked that he might be carried to

the mosque. Wi'Mng arms bore him thither,
and placed him in the pulpit, from whence
he could look down upon the city, and away
to vhe palm-groves of Kuba. Then, turning
his face towards the holy city, Mecca, he
addx'essed the crowds of waiting people
below.

" If there be any man," said he, " whom 1
have unjustly scourged, I submit my own
back to the lash of retaliation. Have I
aspersed the reputation of any Mussulman?
—let him proclaim my faults in the face of
the congregation. Has anyone been despoiled
of his goods?— the little that 1 possess shall
compensate the principal and the interest of
tl vi debt."

He then liberated his slaves, gave direc-
tions as to the order of his funeral, and ap-
pointed Abu Beker to supply his place in
offering public prayer. This seemed to indi-
cate that Abu Beker was to be his successor
In ofilce; and the long-tried friend accord-
ingly became the first caliph of the Saracen
empire.

After this the prophet was conveyed again
to the house of Ayesha. The fever increased,
and the pain in his head became so great
that he more than once preseed his hands
upon it exclaiming. " The poison ot Kliaibar!
The poison of Khaibar!"

Once, perceiving the mother of Bashar, the
soldier who had died of the poison in the
fatal city, he said:

" O motlior of Bashar. the cords of my
heart are now breaking of the food which I
ate with your sen at Khaibar!" *»

At anotlier time, springing up in delirium,
he called for pen and ink that he might
write a new revelation; but owing to his
weak state, his request was refused. In talk-
ing to those about him he said that Azrael.
the Angel of Death, had not dared to take his
soul until he had aslced his permission.

A few nights before his death, he awoke
from a troubled sleep, and, starting wildly
from his couch, sprar^g up with unnatural
strength from his bed.

" Come, Belus!" he cried to an attendant.
" Come with me to the burial-place of El
Bakia' The dead call to me from their

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

graves, and I must go thither to pray for
them."

Alone they passed Into the night; through
the long, silent streets they walked like
phantoms; up the whit, road of Nedj they
glided, until th? few low tombs of the cem-
etery to the sontheast of the city were in
sight.

At the border of the bleak, lonely field,
where the wind moaned among the tombs
like the sighing of a weeping Rachel, Mo-
hammed paused.

" Peace be with you, O people of El
Bakia!" he cried, " Peace be with you,
martyrs of El Bakia! One and all, peace be
with you! We verily, if Allah please, are
about to join you! O Allah, pardon us and
them! And the mercy of God and his bless-
ings be upon us all!"

Thus he prayed, stretching his hands to-
wards the spot where his friends lay in their
long sleep. His companion stood in awe
behind him, shivering in superstitious terror,
as the white tombs gleamed like moving ap-
paritions through the gloom, and the night-
owls hooted with a mournful cadence o'er
the dreary waste.

When he had concluded, the prophet
turned towards home. But the excitement
of mind which had endowed him with al-
most supernatural strength now deserted
him. His steps grew feeble and he was fain
to lean upon Belus on his painful way back.

He grew rapidly worse. His wife Ayesha,
and his daughter Fatima, wife of Ali, seldom
left his bedside. When the last came, he
raised his eyes to the ceiling and exclaimed,
"O Allah, pardon my sins!" He then, with
his own feeble hand, sprinided his face with
water, and- soon afterwards, with his head
on Ayesha's bosom, he departed, in the sixty-
third year of his age, and the eleventh year
of the Hejira. A. D. 032.
--: Tho frenzied people would not believe that
he was dead. " He will arise, like Jesus,"
they said. But no returning breath quivered
through the cold lips or animated the rigid
form of him whom they passionately called
to life; and not until Abu Beker aissured
them that he was really no more, saying.

" Did he not himself assure us that he must
experience the common fate of all? Did he
not say in the Koran, ' Mohammed is no
more than an apostle; the other apostles
have already deceased before him; if he die
therefore, or be slain, will ye turn back on
your heels?' "—not until then did they dis-
perse, with deep groans.

Mohammed was buried in the house in
which he died, his grave being dug fn the
spot beneath his bed; but some ye£i*6 later
a stone tomb was erected over the grave,
and until the present day the plare Is held
so sacred that it ivS at the risk of his life tf»at
anyone but a Mussulman dares enter.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE NEW HOME.

" On these small cares of daughter, wife, or Mend,
The almost sacred joys of Home depend."

—Hannah More.

IN the quiet valley in Pales-
tine life had been deoling
gently with Nathan and his
family. The long, long ab-
sence of Manasseh was the
one thing lacking for their
perfect contentment.

" It is well," Nathan would
say, yet his eyes would turn
wistfully towards the South,
as though he half-hoped to see the beloved
face of his son appearing over the hill. The
mother grew weary with waiting, yet she
did not murmur, but whispered to her lonely
heart, " Liviuf or dead. It must be well."
Only once she said, " Husband, he Is surely
dead." and Nathan replied:

" Let us still hope, wife, that we may yet
see the goodness of the Lord in permitting
us to behold his race."

So they hoped on, and worked on. amid
their orange trees, their corn and vegetables,
and their sheep browsing peacefully on the
hills. And Mary tended the jasmine flowers
and rose-bushes at the door, carrying water
to them night and morning, that ttey might

i ^«ffMt'«»4UWuMW|iw«a#^yMM»'ti*aM4»3--''''''--

I'Pr-

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

look at their prettiest wlien Maiiiisseh came.
Only one letter had reached them — a
cheery, hopeful letter,— but it had been a
long time on the way, and the events of
which it told had talten place many AveeU?
before it reached the Jordan valley. It had
told them of Yusuf and Arazi, of the little
church, of the sender's strange meeting with
Kedar, and the news he had gathered of
Lois. Then tt had told of the war, and had
closed with an affectionate farewell, in
which ihe writer expressed his wish, rather
than his expectation, of being able to make
his way to the new home soon.

How long it seemed to Mai-y since that
last word had come! -4.nd he was not home
yet! She kept the precious manuscript in
her bosom, and twenty times a day she
looked down the long valley for the well-
known form. One morning she sat by the
river, idly plashing her bare feet in is
golaen ripples, and looking at the shadows
on the little stones near the shore. About
her gambled a pet lamb, and above, a soft
blue sky was flecked witli fleecy white
clouds. She twirled a sprig of blossoms in
her hand, but her thoughts were far away in
dear, hot, dusty, dreary Mecca.

" It is not so pleasant as this, though," she
thought, " if Manasseh were only liere."

Just then the tinkle of a camel-bell was
heard,— a strange sound in that secluded
spot. Mai'y looked up, and saw what seemed
to be a great many people coming over the
hilJ, camels bearing shugdufs, too, and pack-
mules, heavily Jaden. - /, i . .li

Trembling, she rushed into the house.

" Oh, mother, what means thisV See the
people! Manasseh would not bring all of
those with him?" ji <* .Lil*v •!/< i i- ui'<

The mother shaded her eyes with h( liand,
and looked fortn. anxiously.

Nearer and nearer came the train. Who
were they? Not Manasseh: Manasseh would
not come so slowly. Can it be? Not
Yusuf! Not Amzi! Yes. yes! O joy! It Is
they!— and many other familiar faces smile
also from the train!

"Is Manasseh well?"

" Yes, Manasseli is well, and happy.'Uj «>^

So questions were asked and answered In
joyful confusion; and Nathan cmue in from
the hills to bid the travelers welcome. Then
the dusty, travel-stained tents were pitched
once more, this time on a grassy slope by the
rippling Jordan. A simple repast was
spread, and the company dined in royal
state.

With what surprise did Nathan and his
household greet the wife of Asru and her
sweet-faced daughter as sisters in Christ,
and with what sympathy did they hear of
Asru's sad death!

Then plans for the immediate settlement
of the little party were made. Tasture-land
in abundance was to be had; hence the
majority of the new-comers would be
speedily and comfortably provided with new
homes. Amzi would take up bis abode in
some comfortable town-house not far dis-
tant, and Yusuf would remain with him for
the present.

Mary and Sherah were friends at once, and
eve evening fell, tliey sat, as girls will, in a
cozy nook by tlie river-side forming plans
for walks and talks daring the long, bright,
sunmier days. . .< : ^v-v ,m ■'!/; *(_

E\ ery cloud had drifted, for the time being,
from tlie happy company; and, ere tiiey re-
tired to rest, all united with fervor iu the
words of the grand song: ,/<?;>.;., - .

' Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not
all his oeneflts: who forgiveth all thine
iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who
redeemeth thy life from destruction; who
crowneth thee with loving kindness and
tender mercies; wlio satisfleth thy mouth
witli good tilings: so that thy youth is re-
newed like tlie eagle's. The Lord executeth
righteousness and judgment for all that are
oppressed. . . Bless the Lord, all his
works, in all places of his dominion! Bless
the Lord, O my soul!"

And later in that same evening, another
group came to Nathan's house. The door
was closed, for the evening was chill with-
out, A knock was heard. Mary opened the
door, and theie was Manasseh himself,
radiantly happy; and close behind him wa«
another Manasseh with Bedouin eyes.

THE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

Mother, sister, and father pressea romul
the youth until he could scarcely move.

"There, there!" he sold, shaking them off
playfully, " my cousin Kedar will be jealous.
Mother, this is Lois' son. and there is some-
one in the darkness liere still."

The youth went out. Who was this that
he assisted from the shugduf?— the living
image of Lois in her girlhood days! Not
Lois, but lier daughter, a Bedouin maid
fresh as the breeze from her native hills.
And can this be Lois— this sad-faced yet
stately woman? It is, indeed, and the long-
separated sisters are once more united.
Ke<lar's brothers are there too, and one more
family is added to the little community.

CHAPTER XXXn.

A WEDDINf I IN PALESTINE. , ■ «

God, the best maUor of all marriages.'"— Shakeapeare.

OR a moment let us

look more closely

at the little district

where the Jewish band

found a home after all

their wanderings, s-

They settled at a
point where the Jordan
River, that birange
river flowing for its entire length through a
depression one thousand feet below the
level of the sea, is cut up by many a
cataract; and the rushing noise of the
water, carried from its mysterious source
at the foot of Mount Hermon, fills the
valley with a music not lost upon ears
long accustomed to the dry wastes of
Arabian deserts. To the north lie plains
where cold blasts blow, and mountains
whose crests gleam with never-failing snow;
yet in the fair vales of Jordan the tempered
breeze fans the air with the mildness of a
never-ceasing-summer, and the soft alluviiil
soil is luxuriant with the rich growth of the
tropics. To the west the rugged and pictur-

esque mountains of Judea rise, and to the
east, at a distance of some ten miles, lie the
blue-tinted mountuins of Moab, rich in asso-
ciations of sacred history.

In this favored spot, shaded by waving
groves and hidden by vines, was the house
of Asru's wife; and at a little distance from
it was a well, an old-fasliioned Avell such as
is seen only in the East, walled about with
ancient and worn flagstones, between
which, at one side, the water trickled and
ran over mossy stones to the river below.

A large tamarisk tree waved above it, and
in its shade, with one knee I'esting on the
flag-stone, her hands clasped behind her
head, and her large eyes fixed upon the
mountains of Moab beyond, stood Sherah,
ere the sun rose, on one beautiful autumn
morning.

An earinen water pitcher, such as Is car-
ried by the girls of the Orient, was beside
her, yet she moved not to execute her
errand. t ■

The 3un arose behind the mountain; the
amber sky became golden; the rosy pink
clouds changed to radiant silver; the birds
sang; the dew glittered; and the sun shone
through the leaves of the trees with a flush
of green-gold.

The beauty of the scene touched the girl.
In a low. clear voice, spontaneous as tlie
song of a bird, she sang: "For the Lord shall
comfort Zion; he will comfort her waste
places: and he will make her wilderness like
Eden, and her desert like the garden of the
liOrd; joy and gladness shall be found
therein, thanksgiving and the voice of mel-
ody."

The song brouglit comfort to her; for was
she not soon to leave thi" fairy spot, this
Aidenn, to return to the land of the Mussul-
man; not the land of—

" Deep myrrh thiekets blowing round
The stately cedar, tamarisks.
Thick rosaries of scented thorn, ' 't ■

Tall Orient shrubs, and obelisks
Graven with emblems of the time,"

but to the bleak, treeless plains of Nejd,
breezy with the warm breath of desert-
swept winds, bounded by rolling mountains,

TEE DAYS OF MOHAMMED.

.* :.(?

Olid dotted by the black tents of those roving
hordes of whom it has been said that " their
hand Is against every man, and every man's
hand is against them,"— the fierce, cruel yet
generous, impulsive, courteous tribes of the
desert.

For Manasseh and Kedar were both going
back to the desert tribes, braving the dan-
gers of persecution, that they might exert an
influence in christianizing the Bedc iin
tribes over whom the Moslems as yet had
little power. Sherah was going back as
Mauasseh's wife, and this was her ^vedding-
day. She was willing to go, yet she could
not help feeling a littie lonely on this last
morning in her mother's home.

Presently the call "Sherah! Sherah!" came
through the olive groves, and the old nurse
hobbled out. The woman was a thorough
type of an aged Arab, lean, wrinkled, hook-
nosed, with skin like shrunken leather, and
a voice like a raven. Yet Sherah knew her
goodness of heart, and loved her dearly.
She was taking the old woman back with
her, for, oddly enough, Zama had never
felt at home in the new land, and often
craved that her bones might be buried In
the old soil.

"Why disturb me, Zama?" said the young
woman kindly. " See you not that I am oid-
ding farewell to this dear valley?"

" Aye, aye, child," muttered the old nurse,
" but we must put the wedding-gown upon
you. and twine jasmine in your hair." She
stroked the glossy masses fondly. "Ah,
to-morrow it must be braided in the plaits of
the matron, and the coins will be placed
about my precious one's neck; yet It seems
only yesterday that she was a toddling baby
at my feet."

The two women, the one tall and lithe as a
willow, the other bent and shrunken, took
their way to the house. Maiy was already
there, and assisted in adorning the bride.

The guests arrived, and the simple cere-
mony was soon over; then the company sat
down to the wedding feast. Lois and her
sister talked In low tones to the mother of
Sherah, who grieved a little Pt the separation
from her daughter. Happy jests and laugh-

ter passed about among the young people.
Amzl went, with beaming face, from group
to group; and Yusuf looked quietly on.

In the midst of the entertainment some one
came to the door.

" It is a peddler!" cried one. " Let us see
what he has— perhaps another gift for our
fair bride."

The young people gathered about the glit-
tering trinkets. Manasseh came near, and,
^^ilh a merry twinkle in his eyes, placed his
liand jn the man's shoulder. The peddler
looked up, and his face blanched with fear.

It was the little Jew, who, having escaped
like an eel from Manasseh's care after the
Battle of Ohod, and having become thor-
oughly frightened at the idea of remaining
longer in a war-ridden district, had disap-
peared like magic from the plains of Arabia,
and had become once more the Insignificant
Jewish peddler in the more secure provinces
to the north.

" Do not be frightened," laughed Manas-
seh. " Vv'e no longer take prisoners of war;
yet, for the sake of old acqurlntance, I
claim you to partake of our feast."

The little man was half-dragged to the
table and given a place by Nathan, who
spoke kindly to him. Yet he did not feel at
e.ise. The stolen cup seemed to point an ac-
cusing finger at him; and he ate little, and
talked less.

Presently he caught a glimpse of Yusuf.
The sight of the man whom he had so nearly
delivered to death ..-as too much for him.
His little eyes darted about as if suspicious
of some design upon his freedom. He could
not understand the magnanimity of these
people, and, deeming discretion the better
part of valor, he sprang from the table,
shouldered his pack, and was off, to be seen
no more. ■ '

^^vn

THE DATS OF MOHAMMED.

if i

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE FAREWELL.

" Sondry folk, by aven-
ture y— falle in felawe-
schipe. '—Chaucer.

ND now, our tale
draws to a close,
and time permits but
a parting fjjlance at
those who liave been
so long a goodly com-
pany of friends.

Amzi has, in his
descent to old age,
developed a wonderful activity
of mind and body. He has be-
come'one of the most influential
members of the little town in which he has
taken up his abode. Realizing as never be-
fore the duty which man owes to man, and
fully awakened at last to the fact that our
talents are given us to be exercised fully, he
no longer dreams away time in the Arab
Kaif ; but, from morning to night, his plump
figure and good-natured old face are seen, up
and down, in the mart, in the council-cham-
ber, in the church, wherever he can lend a
helping hand. He has even assumed the
role of schoolmaster, and upon the earthen
floor of an unused hall he gathers day by
day a troop of little ones, over whom he
bends patiently as they cling to his gown for
sympathy in their small trials, or as they
trace upon their wax tablets, with little, un-
certain hands and in almost illegible charac-
ters, the words of a copy, or text.

'* Aye," he says, " who knows what these
little ones may some day become? They are
as impressiftnable as tlie wax upon which
they write. Heaven grant that the impres-
sion made upon them may be mighty for
good!"

Kedar has married a Bedouin maid, and is
happy in his free life in the old land. Naught
but the desei't could sati,sfy idm; he would
stagnate in the calm life which those in the
Jordan valley are finding so pleasant.

As yet he and Manasseh have not been
molested in their work by the Moslems; and

THE

in tlieir remote mountain recesses they are
persistently fighting agaiu,st heathendom,
and are leading many to live better and no-
bler lives.

And Yusuf ? He Is in his home-land again.
Once more he stands upon the highest point
of the Guebre temple. Tiie priests have not
refused him admittance, for no one has
recognized in this harmless old man the
once Guebre Yusuf.

Ah, It is heathen Persia si ill! The fires
filcker upon the altar, and the idolatrous
chants arise on the air. Yusuf covers his
face w"th his mantle and weeps. He has
but a few years of strength before him, but
he will spend them in trying to bring the
Gospel of love to these poor, blind people.

He grieves for his benighted country; but
Avheu the moon slowly rises, shedding her
soft rays over the old scene, the mountains,
the valleys below, all calm, peaceful, radi-
ant, he is comforted. He thinks of Him who
" created tlie lesser orb to rule the night,"
and a great joy fills his heart that he has
been led to a recognition of Him. and
that he has been enabled to lead others to
Him.

His face glows with serene happiness and
hope. He raises his eyes to the calm, deep
heavens, and says:

" O Father, I thank thee that * mine eyes
have seen the King, the Lord of hosts,' and
his dear Son! I thank thee that thou hast
led me to see Truth! O God, thou hast
taught me from my youth, and hitherto have
I declared thy wondrous works! Now also
when I am old and gray-headed, O God. for-
sake me not until I have showed thy
strength unto this generation, and thy power
to every one that is to come! And now.
Father, ' what wait I for? My hope is in
thee,' the great God, the ever-loving Father,
now and for evermore. Amen and amen."

And there will we leave him. , ""

. - . . , ^. -

" Mav he Hve
Longer than T have time to tell his venral
Evor beloved nnd loving, may his rule bef
And when old Time shall lead him to his end.
Goodness and he fill up one monument!"

—IShakesi eare,

END.

^t^t^a?#* i

J.ji '.» ■

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r^HPAPFQT OF All Yearly Subscription, 60c.; In Clubs, 80c. Sample numbers

v^rltAr C^ i yjl" ALL. ... free on application.

ADDRBSS I

David C. Cook Publishing Company,

36 WASHIWCKTOW prTTp A TH
STREET. LdliV^AUU.

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The Wrestler of Philippi

QY THB eminent STORY-WFIITER, FANNIE E. NEWBERRY.

COMPANION BOOK TO "TITUS.

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/^ TALE of the tirrjes of the early followers of Jesus. I50W they lived tl^e "Christ-
i' life" iQ tfje first century, and wljot Christ meant to then). As "Titus" gave
the reader a picture of the life arjd tinges of Christ, so this booK is inteoded to
portray ttje life and tin)es of the early Church and to be a continuation of, or
sequel to, that booK-

• •

Tliis hoolc is written
expressly for us by
tiic world - renowned
story- writer. Mrs.
F.innie E. Newberry.
It is the worli of many months of careful thought and
study, and probably the best effort of her life.

Written.
lEypreeel^ for llle.

.{. 4. .^

Mill IReat) lit

The style is her l-'cst. The
plot is fascinating. It is
a story for both younj^ and
old. Its Oriental setting, de-
scription of quaint customs,
manners, beliefs, etc., gives it a freshness and attractive-
ness all its own.

♦ ♦ ♦

m* C^hAllIN Xn^ ^'^'^ purpose of the book
III <4JUUlllU Ujyj thesameasweh.idinbringii

"inntolb (3oo^

inging
out "■'itus"— to make the life
and teachings of Jesus seem
real and practical, so that
readers, old and young, may gain the highest and truest
conception of Him and of the ideal life He lived and
taught, and become enraptured by it, thus making the
Christian life joyous, majestic, conquering, and bringing
the reader into such close, loving relationship with Christ
as to care above al! else for His comp.inionship and for a
life like His. " The Wrestler of Philippi "" takes up the life
lived and taught bv Christ where He left it, and endeavors
to show how the first Christians, having received their
inspiration directly from Him, lived that life, and what it
meant to them in those dark times. We realize the use-
fulness of all good, religious story-books, but the trouble

is that their heroes are human ones, no matter how good
and true their lives may be; but in this book, as in
"Titus," Jesus is the hero. Perhaps even more so is this
seen in "The Wrestler of Philippi," for Jesus stands out so
plainly as the one inspiration of the lives of these Chris-
tians that the attention is constantly drawn toward Him.

♦ 4" ♦

Che HDoet IDalue
jfor tbe flDonc^.

No book ever pi-blishcd,
except "'Titus," has
compared with this, when
price and quality are
considered. It is put up
in quarto form, has 1 12 pages, and contains as much mat-
ter as the ordinary $1.50 story book. The cover is of
heavy enameled paper, with design in colors. The book
is illustrated with original half-tone engravings, and is
printed on fine paper from clear, new type.

♦ ♦ ♦

||V.^»^^^ ^ This remarkable book is offered at
11^ ^ IC V 8 ♦ ^ price thai places it within the reach
** of all. No other publisher has ever

offered such value. Ask your newsdealer for it, or send
your order direct to the publishers for one or more
copies.

Pamphlet Edition, in quarto form, 112 large pages,
heavy paper cover in beautiful colors; illustrated. Price,
postpaid, in lots to suit, five cents per copy.

Cloth Edition, 1 12 large pages, same size and style as
above, library binding, heavy cloth covers. Price, 20
cents per copy postpaid, to any address.

ADDRESS :

DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO.,^" ^bt!K'^°'' CHICAGO.

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