There was no use of reasoning with this rash youth.
"And think you this Mohammed is worthy of your sacrifice?" she asked.
"If he be really inspired, as hundreds now believe, is he not worthy of every sacrifice? Does he not promise his followers an eternal felicity?"
"A vile impostor!" exclaimed the woman harshly. "Yet you will not believe what I say, until your own eyes see and your own ears hear! Go! Go! I shall talk no more to you! If you fall it shall be no fault of Lois'!"
She arose and waved him off with an impatient gesture. Yet he lingered.
"You will forgive me, mother?" he asked, gently.
The woman's mother-heart welled to the brim. She answered brokenly:
"My son, my son! Could I do aught else? Take my blessing with you! And now, here comes your father."
Musa was feebler than upon that first night when he met Yusuf in his tent, and his hair had become almost white, yet there was the same dignity in his appearance.
"Go, Kedar," he said, "and prove that you are indeed the son of Musa. Go, and see that you bring back good news of battle!"