"Where are my sisters and my brother now?" asked the young man.
"In a safe place. I took them to our tribe. They are staying in our tent with my wife. Do you know, Sarhad, that I have a wife now, and a baby,—a lovely little baby? Your father (May God make his soul a part of the light!) found a pretty girl and married me to her. He gave me one hundred sheep, too, as a wedding present, and said: 'Musdo, you have served me a long time, it is enough; go and hereafter live for yourself, make a home and raise a family.' But I was brought up in your house, I had eaten your bread; so I said: 'No, master; I have lived under your roof so many years, I must die there; and until Sarhad returns I will be your son.'"
The young man was moved, he kissed Musdo on the forehead, and said:—
"You shall be my brother again, my good Musdo. I will not part with you. But do you think that my sisters can be safe in your tent?"
The young Kurd answered with a confident pride:
"Sheikh Jelaleddin with all his hosts of robbers could not enter Musdo's tent. You know the Yezidees. When a person, no matter of what tribe or nation, comes under a Yezidee's roof, he is considered the welcome guest of the whole tribe, and the whole tribe will shed the last drop of their blood rather than give up the guest to his enemies."
Suddenly he stopped and listened, breathless.
"Do you hear those voices?" he asked.
"What voices?" returned the young man, who had heard nothing, so excited and absorbed was he.
"They are singing. The Kurds sing like that when they are carrying away slaves and plunder."
"Then let us go," said the young man.
"Let us go!" repeated the Kurd.
Both turned their steps in the direction from whence the singing seemed to come.
Trans. KHORENE M. ANTREASSIAN.
[To be continued.]
