Above them the wide sweep of the sky glittered with stars as bright and as numerous as the houris of Paradise, while from below, muted by distance, came the sound of palm fronds rustling in the wind, the crash and croon of the surf and all the many night noises of an Eastern city. Majid-bin-Saïd removed his turban for greater comfort, and propping himself up on one elbow watched a falling star draw a finger of fire across the blue, and when it had vanished said with a sigh: “You tell me nothing new. Do you think I do not know?—I who felt the wind of the shot sing through my very hair not once, but again and yet again as my dear brother Bargash fired on me with his own hand from his own window? Of course I know! It is nothing new in my family. It runs in the blood.” “Maybe. But it is your Highness’s blood that will soon be running if you do not put a stop to this plotting and playacting before it turns into something a deal more dangerous.”
