“Are you sick?”
“I am sleepy.”
“Your mother has asked for you.”
“Where is she?”
“In the summer-house on the roof.”
He stirred himself, and sat up.
“Very well. Bring me something to eat.”
“What do you want?”
“What you please, Amrah. I am not sick, but indifferent. Life does not seem as pleasant as it did this morning. A new ailment, O my Amrah; and you who know me so well, who never failed me, may think of the things now that answer for food and medicine. Bring me what you choose.”
Amrah’s questions, and the voice in which she put them—low, sympathetic, and solicitous—were significant of an endeared relation between the two. She laid her hand upon his forehead; then, as satisfied, went out, saying, “I will see.”