He creeps to the entrance, and is so weak that he can hardly pass through the opening, which he had formerly made still narrower, that no one might discover it. He is so weak that he can scarcely stand upright; his swollen lips are bleeding; his brain is burning, and he sinks down upon a rock. A kindly voice now calls him. He hears it, but lacks the strength to answer.
"Mohammed! Mohammed!" is heard again, and now the merchant, Lion, approaches from behind a projecting rock. He had seen the boy, but knowing his proud heart, and fearing to put him to shame by showing himself, and saying that he came to his assistance, he had lingered behind the rock.
He now kneels down beside the boy, bends over him, kisses his lips, and whispers loving words in his ear.
"Poor child, Your mother, who loved you so tenderly, would weep bitterly if she could see you in this condition. Poor boy, you must strengthen yourself. I know you have eaten nothing, and I have brought you food."
He drew a bottle from his pocket, and poured a little wine on his lips. Mohammed tried to resist, but the body was stronger than the will. He greedily swallows the wine, and, without knowing it, asks for more. The merchant smiles approvingly, and pours a little more on his lips, and then gives him a small piece of white bread that he had brought with him, and rejoices when he sees Mohammed breathing with renewed life.
"What are you doing?" he murmured. "I must die, that I may go to my mother."
The merchant stooped down lower over the boy, and kissed him. "Your mother, who loves you so dearly, sends you this kiss, through me. She confided to me that she must die, and I promised her that I would bring you a kiss from her whenever I saw you. With this kiss she commands you to be brave and happy throughout life."
And, as he ceased speaking, he inclined his head and kissed him a second time.
Now, as he receives this kiss from his mother, the tears suddenly burst from his eyes and pour down his cheeks, hot tears, and yet they cool and alleviate the burning pains of his soul.
"You weep," said the merchant, whose own cheeks were wet with grief. "Weep on, pain must have its relief in tears, and even a man need not be ashamed of them."