"Why are we waiting?" she asked.
"Because I was tired," he answered.
"Are you rested?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"Then let us go on," she said.
They rode on, hope sustaining Abdullah, and love sustaining Nicha, for she knew nothing but love.
Then, after eight hours, on the edge of the desert appeared a little cloud, no larger than a man's hand.
Abdullah roused himself with effort. He watched the cloud resolve itself into a mass of green, into waving palms—then he knew that Zama was before him, and that the march was ended.
He turned and spoke to the girl. They had not spoken for hours.
"Beloved," he said, "a half-hour, and we reach rest."
She did not answer. She was asleep upon her saddle.