David stood for a moment, pondering, his eyes upon the deserter. "God
greet thee as thou goest, and His goodness befriend thee," he said
evenly. There was silence, and no movement. "Rise and speak," he added
sternly. "Dost thou not hear? Rise, Achmet Pasha!"
Achmet Pasha! The head of the desolate wretch lifted, the eyes glared at
David for an instant, as though to see whether he was being mocked, and
then the spare figure stretched itself, and the outcast stood up. The old
lank straightness was gone, the shoulders were bent, the head was thrust
forward, as though the long habit of looking into dark places had bowed
it out of all manhood.
"May grass spring under thy footstep, Saadat," he said, in a thick voice,
and salaamed awkwardly--he had been so long absent from life's
formularies.
"What dost thou here, pasha?" asked David formally. "Thy sentence had no
limit."
"I could not die there," said the hollow voice, and the head sank farther
forward. "Year after year I lived there, but I could not die among them.
I was no leper; I am no leper.
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