The natural duplicity of the Oriental had been abashed and
inactive before the simple and astounding honesty of these two Quaker
folk.
He saw crisis written on every feature of the face before him. Yet the
scanty meal they ate with the monks in the ancient room was enlivened by
the eager yet quiet questioning of David, to whom the monks responded
with more spirit than had been often seen in this arid retreat. The
single torch which spluttered from the wall as they drank their coffee
lighted up faces as strange, withdrawn, and unconsciously secretive as
ever gathered to greet a guest. Dim tales had reached them of this
Christian reformer and administrator, scraps of legend from stray
camel-drivers, a letter from the Patriarch commanding them to pray
blessings on his labours--who could tell what advantage might not come to
the Coptic Church through him, a Christian! On the dull, torpid faces,
light seemed struggling to live for a moment, as David talked. It was as
though something in their meagre lives, which belonged to undeveloped
feelings, was fighting for existence--a light struggling to break through
murky veils of inexperience.
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