At last, on the third day, she sees him coming; pale and exhausted, he totters toward her, and yet his bearing is defiant, and his eye sparkles.
She hurries forward with extended arms to meet him. "Where have you been, my beloved; where were you tarrying in the distance, forgetting that a mother's heart was longing for you?"
He pressed his mother's hand to his lips, looking steadfastly into her eyes. "I was with my future, Mother Khadra," said he in a low voice. "I was with the days that are to come, the days when I shall stand on the palace, a man, a hero, sword in hand, at my feet a people looking up to me imploringly. You see, mother, your dream is fulfilled, the hero who stands up there has again transformed himself into your boy! He is here and greets you."
"But why is my boy pale and exhausted?" asked Sitta Khadra, anxiously, as she clasped him in her arms.
"I don't know!" said he, wearily. "It seems to me that my feet refuse to bear me longer, that something is drawing me upward. Let us go to the hut, mother."
He grasped her arm hastily and led her away as though he were quite strong, but Khadra observed that his lips trembled, and that his face was pallid.
"He looks hungry," she murmured to herself. "Yes, I see he is hungry! Buried in his thoughts, he has again forgotten to take food."
She said no more, but walked hastily to the hut and led him in. "Son of my heart, I have been awaiting you," said she, with an innocent air. "I did not wish to partake of our simple supper until my son had come home. Let us sit down and eat. Allah bless our meal!"
It does not escape her that his eye suddenly glitters as he looks at the bread and dates brought yesterday by the boys as his tribute.
With a quick motion he stretches out his hand toward the fruit, but suddenly withdraws it, as if ashamed of himself.