Muriel haughtily gave him the bottle, and watched him as he poured a few drops on to the wounds. Her attention was presently attracted by a board nailed to the wall, upon which an inscription was written in large, flowing Arabic characters.
“What does that say?” she asked, forgetting for the moment that she was not really desirous of holding any communication with him.
“It is a quotation from the Koran,” he told her. “I wrote it and stuck it up for a lesson to these people. It reads ‘The Prophet has written: There is no beast on earth, nor bird that flieth, but the same is a people like unto you, and unto God shall they return.’”
“I like that,” she said.
He fetched a broom from the corner of the shed and held it out to her. “Would you mind just sweeping the ground a bit while I clean up the troughs?” he asked. “The native attendant is off duty today.”
He busied himself with his work, and Muriel, making a grimace, did as she was bid. It was less awkward than standing still, and the cause was good though the job unpleasant.
They walked home in silence through the gathering dusk. Daniel offered her his hand to help her up the steep path which ascended the cliff to his house, but she frigidly refused it; and when, presently, she stumbled and nearly fell, she scrambled to her feet once more in surprisingly quick time, as though to avoid his proffered aid.
Later she sat down to the evening meal without uttering a word, and the silence was extremely oppressive.
“Look here,” Daniel broke out at last, “I don’t know what you feel about it, but for my own part I rather object to this silence.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” she replied.