two weeks had passed since the events just narrated, and peace seemed to have again settled over the isolated town of mekran. kasam remained at the palace, declaring himself a faithful adherent of ahmed khan, but although he had sent word to zarig, the sirdar of raab, who yet remained encamped with his warriors in the west valley, that peace was declared, the rebellious sirdar had refused to come into the city and make obeisance to ahmed of ugg.

all the americans were now housed within the palace, and aunt lucy had come to revise and reconstruct her opinion of that whilom den of iniquity, the harem. but allison’s tragic death had sobered the good lady, as it had all of their little band, and checked for a time at least her garrulity and desire to criticise. there was no doubt of aunt lucy’s democracy, yet it was amusing to note her pride in the fact that janet was the wife of an eastern potentate of the importance of ahmed khan. it would be a splendid tale to carry back to new york, and she had already decided to leave an envelope always carelessly lying upon her table addressed to “her imperial majesty the khanum of mekran and empress of baluchistan.” it would serve to amuse visitors while she arranged her hair at the mirror before coming down.

kasam’s wild passion for janet had quickly evaporated with the news that she was wedded to ahmed. the young prince was greatly subdued in spirit, and made no objections to bessie’s kindly efforts to console him. his position in the palace was necessarily an uncomfortable one, for he held no clearly defined rank in the household and there was no gift within the power of the khan that it would be dignified in him to accept. reared from childhood with the ambition of sometime becoming the ruler of mekran by virtue of his royal blood, it was naturally difficult for kasam to realize that this brilliant dream was past and he must be content to abandon it forever.

so he wandered restlessly in the gardens, with bessie by his side, and accompanied the girl on long rides through the pleasant valleys, and might have been as happy as in the old days had he allowed himself to forget his disappointment.

meantime salaman, the grand mufti of the realm, remained the chosen companion of the khan, who, notwithstanding the deference he paid to his illustrious father, leaned more upon the aged priest than any other of his friends. and thus it was that one bright morning they walked together upon a high roof of the palace, where none might interrupt their earnest communion.

“i have thought well upon your words, my son,” said salaman, “and examined critically your desires, striving honestly to quell my own inclination to oppose you. but i fear i cannot understand you wholly. what is there in this favored country—the land of your famous forefathers—that repels you, and inclines you to leave it?”

ahmed paced up and down, thoughtfully weighing his words e’er he replied.

“it is, as you well say, my father, a land favored of allah; yet the life here is the life of the lotus-eaters; or one of holy concentration; or even of idle dreams. time has no wings in baluchistan. we live, and lo, we die, while the sun shines fair as ever, the breezes rustle through the palms, the fountains still splash in their marble basins, and the endless chain of humanity creeps on from the cradle to the grave with uneventful languor. as it was a hundred years ago, so it is today; as it is now it will be found in future ages—merely baluchistan, the home of a million contented souls, all faithful to allah, all indifferent to earthly conditions outside their narrow limits.”

“truly, a paradise on earth!” said salaman, nodding approval.

“in the west,” said the khan, a stronger note creeping into his voice, “a spirit of unrest is ever abroad. it impels men to do and to dare, feeding upon their brain and brawn rather than upbuilding them. they strive—strive ever, though erring or misdirected—putting their shoulders all together to the wheel of the juggernaut chariot of progress and sweating mightily that some thing may be accomplished that was never known before. and in this they find content.”

“poor souls!” murmured the priest.

“father, i am of these—my mother’s people—rather than of those who rest satisfied with allah’s gifts. here i may never be at peace. as khan of mekran i would overturn all existing conditions. i would plunge my people into reckless wars of conquest, build rails for iron chariots to speed upon—shrieking the cry of progress throughout the land. merchants from all nations would gather here to rouse the tribesmen to barter and sale, teaching them lies and deceptions now all unknown to their simple hearts. my father, i would be as dangerous to your people as a firebrand in a thatch. let me go. send me back to that country whence i came: the country that taught me unrest; the country where alone i shall find employment for an earnest heart and a strong right arm! put kasam in my place.”

“it may be that you are right; that you know what is best for us all,” replied the priest, sadly. “but you demand that i perform a difficult task. you are khan of mekran, acknowledged legally by the sirdars and—”

“not by burah khan,” interrupted the other, with a smile. “it was my faithful dirrag who, dressed in the dead burah’s robes, enacted the khan’s part and acknowledged me before the sirdars.”

salaman gave a sigh of regret.

“true, dear hafiz,” he said, unconsciously adopting the old affectionate appellation. “but you are grandson of the great keedar. you rule justly and by right of inheritance. and in the beginning you accepted the throne readily enough. what has caused your inclinations to so change?”

“i have found a wife,” said the young man, proudly; “and she is an american. without her i was content to merely exist. with her by my side i am roused to action. hear me, father. kasam will rule you better than ever i could do. his heart is here—where he was born. he will forget, as i never could do, the urgent prompting of that western civilization we have both known. let kasam be khan!”

salaman came close to ahmed, placed both hands upon his shoulders, and laid his aged head against the strong young breast.

“we have been friends, my hafiz, and i have loved you. it grieves my very heart to let you go. but if i can compass the thing and bring the people to consent, it shall be according to your will. for life is brief, as you say, and allah waits above for us both. and wherein would the charm of friendship lie if the selfishness of one should steal the other’s heart’s desire?”

for reply ahmed gathered the speaker into his steadfast embrace; and so they stood silent and alone upon the housetop, with allah’s sun lovingly caressing the brown locks of the khan and the silvery beard of the high priest.{3