The Moullah was seated on the earth, from which
he did not arise, or show any mark of reverence;
nor did he interrupt the tale of his beads, which he
continued to count assiduously while Hartley was
speaking. When he finished, the old man raised his
eyes, and looking at him with an air of distraction,
as if he was endeavouring to recollect what he had
been saying, he at length pointed to one of the
cells, and resumed his devotions like one who felt
impatient of whatever withdrew his attention from
his sacred duties, were it but for an instant.
Hartley entered the cell indicated, with the usual
salutation of Salam Alaikum. His patient lay on
a little carpet in a corner of the small white-washed
cell. He was a man of about forty, dressed in the
black robe of his order, very much torn and patched.
He wore a high conical cap of Tartarian felt,
and had round his neck the string of black beads
belonging to his order. His eyes and posture indicated
suffering, which he was enduring with stoical
patience.
``Salam Alaikum,'' said Hartley; ``you are in
pain, my father?''---a title which he gave rather to
the profession than to the years of the person be
addressed.
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