"She is nowhere in the mosque; but she may be down on the beach."
The sheik no longer felt the weight of his years, he no longer felt exhausted by the fatigues of the preceding day.
He is young again, and his blood is coursing through his veins. With head erect and firm footstep he walks down to the beach.
"Masa, my child, come to me; hasten to your father's arms!" he cries; so loudly that his voice drowns the noise of the rushing waves. But no one replies. Masa is not there.
A wild cry of terror resounds from his lips, he sinks down upon the shore exhausted, and stares out at the waves as though he would ask, "Have you seen my child; has she gone to you; has she sought a resting-place in your cold bosom?" Yet why should she do so? Masa is happy and loves her father, why does she then torment him thus? Masa must have gone to some of her neighbors. She has many friends; every woman and girl that Masa knows loves her on account of her happy disposition, her innocence, and her loveliness. She will have returned home long since. Djumeila cannot know that her master has gone out, or she would have called him.
"Masa is surely at home!"
The old man returns to his dwelling with the quick step of a youth.
Djumeila is standing in the door-way, weeping and lamenting loudly
"Master, my child, my Masa, is gone! Allah be merciful, and take me from this earth, now that my Masa is no longer here!"
The sheik says not a word. He neither speaks nor weeps, but only beckons to the men who have been drawn to the spot by Djumeila's loud lamentations. When they have come near, he bends down close to them, as if to prevent even the wind from hearing him, and whispers in their ears: "My child is gone. Masa is not in the mosque. Masa is not on the beach, and is not with the neighbors!"
The men regarded him with dismay; and, supposing they must have misunderstood his words, ask each other, "What did the sheik say?"