Hartley entered without farther opposition, and was now in a
grove of mango-trees, through which an infant moon was twinkling faintly
amid the murmur of waters, the sweet song of the nightingale, and the
odours of the rose, yellow jasmine, orange and citron flowers, and
Persian narcissus. Huge domes and arches, which were seen imperfectly in
the quivering light, seemed to intimate the neighbourhood of some sacred
edifice, where the Fakir had doubtless taken up his residence.
Hartley pressed on with as much haste as he could, and entered a
side-door and narrow vaulted passage, at the end of which was another
door. Here his guide stopped, but pointed and made indications that the
European should enter. Hartley did so, and found himself in a small
cell, such as we have formerly described, wherein sate Barak el Hadgi,
with another Fakir, who, to judge from the extreme dignity of a white
beard, which ascended up to his eyes on each side, must be a man of
great sanctity, as well as importance.
Hartley pronounced the usual salutation of Salam Alaikum in the most
modest and deferential tone; but his former friend was so far from
responding in their former strain of intimacy, that, having consulted
the eye of his older companion, he barely pointed to a third carpet,
upon which the stranger seated himself cross-legged, after the country
fashion, and a profound silence prevailed for the space of several
minutes.
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