The Hartley Brothers by Charlotte Maria Tucker

HASSAN did his utmost to prevent the northward journey from being commenced, and he had as many wiles as a fox. Orientals are skilful in making excuses, and are masters in the art of causing delays. But Hassan's master was more than a match for him,-had experimental knowledge of his devices, and cut through every difficulty by his own shrewdness, and the force of his strong will. It almost seemed to Robin as if Ali took pleasure in provoking the jealousy, and disappointing the efforts of his shadow, as we sometimes see a master wantonly teasing the dog which crouches at his feet. It was clear to the English youth that there was no affection between the Amir and Hassan, and Robin wondered why the former did not dismiss from his service one whom he neither liked nor trusted.

In spite of all that was said about camels being sick and horses lame, of provisions running short and mashales growing leaky, the party started on the route leading towards Djauf. Robin felt weak from loss of blood, and his arm gave him pain, but he would have scorned to have let weakness or pain act as an impediment in his search after his brother.

The first stage was long, and seemed doubly tedious from its being a going over ground already trodden. Hassan was by no means the only one of the party to look sulky, for no one liked the prolongation of desert wanderings which had been thought near a conclusion. Ali's tent was at last pitched near the first brackish well which was reached; the horses were tethered, the camels unloaded.

As the sun was still high, the Amir kept within the shelter of his tent, reclining on cushions, with his narghillah at his side, refreshing himself with perfumes, of which Orientals are fond. Ali made Robin share his carpet, and while the attendants outside made preparations for the evening meal, the Amir bade Robin beguile the time by reciting more of his English verses.

The wounded youth, struggling against almost overwhelming languor, increased by the heat, began the second chapter of St. John's First Epistle. His was a discouraging task, for Ali looked so dreamy that Robin doubted whether the Amir were listening at all, or whether the faint voice at his side were not merely having the effect of lulling the Persian to sleep.

Thus the first eight verses were recited, but when the following three were repeated, Robin could no longer doubt that Ali was listening. "He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now. He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him: but he that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness."

Ali raised himself from his cushions, fixed his dark melancholy eyes upon Robin, and made a movement with his hand to stop the recitation; he had heard enough, and more than he cared to hear. There was silence for some time in the tent, and the weary English youth had dropped asleep, when he was roused by a question from Ali.

"What will you do, O Feringhee, if you fail to find your brother?"

"I feel certain that I shall find him," said Robin the hopeful.

"There is nothing certain in this life, in which we are blown hither and thither like chaff before the wind," observed Ali. "Or, to change the metaphor, we are like bubbles floating for a moment over death's waters, only to break, mingle with them, and be lost for ever."

"You take a very dark view of life, and I take a bright one," said the Knight of St. John.

"The better for you," observed Ali, with a gloomy smile. "Pray, what is your view of life, O sage one?"

"That it is a time to work for God here, with His sunshine upon us, and a hope, nay, a certainty, of glory and happiness in His presence when our work is done!"

"I return to my first question," said the Persian. "If you are disappointed-as is likely enough-in your expectation of meeting your brother, what will you do? Will you not let something else fill his place?"

"Nothing; no one can fill Harold's place! " exclaimed Robin.

The tone of decision in which the words were uttered disappointed the Persian, in whose breast there was a secret unacknowledged yearning to have-what he had never yet had-a true friend.

Almost impatiently, he cried, "Why is it that you so set your affections on him whom you call by the name of Harold?"

"Is he not my brother? " said Robin.

"Oh, that is not enough! There are brothers and brothers; some are loved, and some-but let that pass. I want some better reason for your devotion to this Harold than the mere tie of blood, the mere accident of your having been born in the same dwelling."

"There is not a nobler fellow in the world than Harold? " said Robin.