The distant murmur from without was louder now and reached the room, and he heard it. He tried with all his might to raise his hand, to lift his head, to speak a single word.
'It may be that this is the nature of death,' he thought again, 'and I am already dead.'
The noise from the multitude came louder and louder. Zehowah heard it and her breath was caught in her throat. She looked up and saw that the high window of the chamber was no longer quite dark. The day was dawning. Then pressing her bosom with her hands she looked again at Khaled. His head was bent upon his breast and he was so still that she thought he had fallen asleep. A cry broke from her lips.
'He cares not!' she exclaimed. 'What is it to him, whether I go, or stay?'
Again Khaled felt the cool breeze in the room, fanning his forehead, and once more his limbs trembled. Then he felt that his strength was returning and that he could move. He raised his head and looked at Zehowah, and just then there was a distant crashing roar, as the Bedouins began to strike upon the gates.
'It is time,' he said, and taking his sword in his hand he rose from his seat.
Zehowah came towards him with outstretched hands, wet cheeks and burning eyes. She stood before him as though to bar the way, and hinder him from going out.
'What is it to you, whether I go, or stay?' he asked, repeating her own words.
'What is it? By Allah, it is all my life—I will not let you go!' And she took hold of his wrists with her weak woman's hands, and tried to thrust him back.
'Go, Zehowah,' he answered, gently pressing her from him. 'Go now, and let me meet them alone, knowing that you are safe. For though this be pity which you feel, I know it is nothing more.'