Abdallah was the favourite slave of the charitable merchant Ali. In
obedience to his master's orders, he unwillingly descended from his
camel, and examined the body of the apparently lifeless Alroy.
'A Kourd, by his dress,' exclaimed Abdallah, with a sneer; 'what does he
here?'
'It is not the face of a Kourd,' replied Ali; 'perchance a pilgrim from
the mountains.'
'Whatever he be, he is dead,' answered the slave: 'I doubt not an
accursed Giaour.'
'God is great,' exclaimed Ali; 'he breathes; the breast of his caftan
heaved.'
''Twas the wind,' said Abdallah.
''Twas the sigh of a human heart,' answered Ali.
Several pilgrims who were on foot now gathered around the group.
'I am a Hakim,'[17] observed a dignified Armenian. 'I will feel his
pulse; 'tis dull, but it beats.'
'There is but one God,' exclaimed Ali.
'And Mahomed is his Prophet,' responded Abdallah. 'You do not believe in
him, you Armenian infidel.'
'I am a Hakim,' replied the dignified Armenian. 'Although an infidel,
God has granted me skill to cure true believers. Worthy Ali, believe me,
the boy may yet live.'
'Hakim, you shall count your own dirhems if he breathe in my divan in
Bagdad,' answered Ali; 'I have taken a fancy to the boy.
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