By Far Euphrates A Tale 12

By Far Euphrates A Tale 12

"That means that you may get to Urfa in nine hours instead of in two

days; for you know they go the whole way at a hard gallop. It means

safety too, for they have zaptiehs to guard them."

 

"Good, Gabriel. 'Tis _thou_ shouldst be called Avedis (good tidings). I

will go at once and settle to go along with them."

 

"You will hide _that thing_," said Gabriel, with a frightened glance at

the revolver. "'Twould mean death. And oh, Yon Effendi, one word,

please!" He stooped, kissed his hand, and pressed his forehead to it.

"Tell them a boy comes with you. Take me, I pray of you, Yon Effendi!"

 

Jack hesitated. "There would be danger for you," he said.

 

"No more than here."

 

"But your father and mother, and your grandfather, Gabriel?"

 

"They give me leave; nay, they wish it. They say it is for my sister

you are doing all this; therefore if I can help you--and I can. I know

Turkish well, and that will be very useful. I know the ways of the Turks

too, much better than you do. And I love you, Yon Effendi."

 

There was reason in what he said, and in the end he had his way.

 

That evening all the Meneshian family met together in the largest room

of their house, the men and boys sitting at one side of it, the women at

the other. At an ordinary time they would have "called their neighbours

and chief friends," but now they were afraid to do it; so Der Garabed

was the only outsider, and his presence was official, for he read

certain prayers of the Church and a passage of scripture. Then Jack

stood up, and walked over to the place where Shushan sat, beside her

mother. In his hand was his father's Bible and another book--an Armenian

hymnbook. Shushan rose and stood before him with bowed head and veiled

face, as with a few low-breathed words he gave her the books. She took

them from him, and laid them on the table. No word was spoken by her; in

taking them she had done enough. The betrothal was sealed. Then,

according to custom, the boys handed round bastuc and paclava, (a kind

of paste made with honey,) and also coffee and sherbet. But this was

rather a sacrifice to use and wont than a genuine festivity. The little

gathering soon broke up, and Jack and Gabriel prepared for their

journey.

 

At nightfall they said to their friends and kindred the usual "Paree

menác" (remain with blessing), and were answered by the usual, and in

this case most heartfelt "Paree yetac" (go with blessing).

 

 

 

 

Chapter IX

 

PEACE AND STRIFE

 

"They that have seen thy look in death

No more may fear to die."

 

 

John Grayson and Gabriel Meneshian were threading their way through the

narrow, unsavoury streets of Urfa, the gutters which ran down the middle

often not leaving them room to walk side by side. They had left their

horses at a khan, and were now seeking the dwelling of the Vartonians,

to which they had been directed. Emerging at last into a wider

thoroughfare, they saw a church, standing in the midst of its

churchyard, of which the gate was open. "We must be in our own quarter,"

cried Gabriel, delighted, "for this is a Christian church."

 

Jack stepped inside the gate and looked at it with interest. The door of

the church was open also; and Gabriel, seeing him look towards it, said,

"You might go in there, Yon Effendi, and rest a little, for I see you

are tired to death; I will run on and try and find the house. It cannot

be far off now."

 

"But you are tired too."

 

"Not a bit. I would feel quite fresh this minute if I only had a drink.

And, by good luck, there goes a fellow outside, a Turk too, with a

bucket full of _iran_ to sell."

 

The Turk, who had been crying his ware, stopped at the moment, for he

saw an Armenian boy coming down the street with a large empty pitcher in

his hand. "You want this?" said he, preparing to pour his sour milk into

it.

 

The boy said he wanted nothing of the kind. He had been sent for water,

and water he must bring. His people were waiting for it, and would be

very angry. He tried to pass on, but the Turk laid hold on him, seized

his pitcher, and emptied the bucket of _iran_ into it, not without

spilling a good deal in the street. "Now pay me my money," he said.

 

"But the thing is no use to me," the boy protested ruefully.

 

"What does that matter, dog of a Giaour? You got it; and, by the beard

of the Prophet, you must pay for it."

 

As the boy, crying bitterly, searched for the few piastres he had about

him, Jack's honest English face flushed with wrath, and Gabriel would

have sprung to the rescue had he not laid his hand on him and whispered,

"Wait."

 

They waited until the Turk had turned down a side street, then Jack

hailed the lad, who was standing quite still, gazing dolefully at his

useless pitcher of _iran_. "Will you give us a drink?" he asked, coming

out of the gate. "We are dying of thirst."

 

The boy checked his sobs; and for answer held up his pitcher to the lips

of the stranger. Jack took a long deep draught, then passed it on to

Gabriel, while he made the boy happy with more piastres than the Turk

had taken from him. His tears all gone, he blessed the strangers for

good Christians, and thanked them in the Name of the Lord.

 

"What church is that?" asked Gabriel, giving back the pitcher.

 

"That? Oh, that is the church of the Protestants."

 

"Is it English then?" Jack asked, feeling a pull at his heart strings.

 

"No; it is Armenian. But it is of the religion of the foreigners, who

talk English. They are good people, and very kind to the poor."

 

"Perhaps there is service going on, as the church is open," Jack said.

"I will go and see."

 

"Do," said Gabriel; "meanwhile, this lad will help me to find the

Vartonians, and I will come back for you."

 

Jack passed through the churchyard, and, leaving his shoes on the

threshold, entered the church. The interior was very handsome, all of

white stone, and adorned with fine pillars and beautiful carving. It was

not unlike a Gregorian church, save for the absence of pictures. In the

window, over what the Gregorians called the Altar and the Protestants

the Table of the Lord, was a small red cross. There was a very low

partition, separating the places where the men and the women sat, and

the floor was covered with rushes.

 

Before the Holy Table, on a kind of couch, all draped in snowy white,

and covered with flowers, something lay. Jack knew what it was, for he

had seen the dead laid in the church at Biridjik, to await their final

rest. With bowed head and reverent footsteps he drew near to look.

Venturing gently to draw aside the face-cloth from the face, he saw it

was that of a woman. Not, evidently, a young and lovely girl like

Shushan, but one who had lived her life, had borne the burden and heat

of the day, and, it well might be, was glad to rest. Perhaps yesterday

there were wrinkles on the cheek and furrows on the brow; now

death,--"kind, beautiful death,"--had smoothed them all away, and

stamped instead his own signet there of which the legend is "Peace." The

closed white lips had that look we have seen on the faces of our dead,

as if they are of those "God whispers in the ear,"--and they _know_,

though they cannot tell us, _yet_. English words, that he had heard long

ago, came floating through the brain of John Grayson. "The peace of God

that passeth all understanding." He found himself once more in the

church of his childhood, while a solemn voice breathed over the hushed

congregation those words of blessing. Then, coming back to the present,

he thought, "It takes away the fear of death to see a dead face like

that." He reverently replaced the veil, and withdrawing somewhat into

the shadow, knelt down to pray.

 

As he knelt there, he heard the footsteps of one who came to look upon

the dead. Rising noiselessly, he saw a tall, noble-looking man, dressed

_à la Frank_, approach the bier. His bent head was streaked with grey,

his face pale with intense, though quiet sorrow. As he knelt down

silently beside his dead, John Grayson knew instinctively that the love

of those two had been what his love and Shushan's might become, if God

left them together for half a happy lifetime.

 

For a few minutes the silence lasted, then came that most sorrowful of

all earth's sounds of sorrow, the sob of a strong man. Jack kept quiet

in the shadow of his pillar, in reverence and awe; not for worlds would

he have betrayed his presence there.

 

Afraid Gabriel might come in search of him, he looked round for some

chance of escape. He saw, to his relief, a small side door, near where

he was standing. He crept towards it noiselessly, found it unlocked,

withdrew the little bolt, and going through the pastor's study, slipped

out into the churchyard to wait for Gabriel. Yes, there he was, just

coming in at the gate. He went to meet him.

 

"Did you think me long, Yon Effendi?" asked the boy. "I have found the

Vartonians, and I am to bring you to them at once. Baron Vartonian

himself is away from home, but one of his sons would have come with me

to bid you welcome to their house, only they are in great trouble

to-day, for Pastor Stepanian, their Badvellie, whom they love, has just

lost his wife. Shushan will be very sorry, for Oriort Elmas Stepanian,

the Badvellie's daughter, is her greatest friend."

 

"I know," Jack answered softly. "I have seen the face of the dead.

Gabriel, I do not think _now_ that it can be very hard to die."

 

"No," said Gabriel. "It would not be hard to die for Christ's sake, Yon

Effendi."

 

"It reminds me," Jack went on, as if talking to himself, "of the last

words I heard my father say, 'The dark river turns to light.'"

 

Jack was received with open arms by the whole Vartonian household. It

was even a larger household than that of the Meneshians in Biridjik. Its

head, a prosperous merchant, was absent in Aleppo, but there was his old