“Praise be to Allah! What is the hour?”
“It nears the dawn, O my master.”
“It is seemly that we make arrangements for her burial this day. Allah forbid that I should trespass any longer upon the kindness of this stranger. I will make him a suitable present, and then, having buried the body of my soul, we will return to our own place.”
“Spare thyself all concern,” said Mâs gently. “Ismaìl, the doorkeeper, is more skilled than we are in the ways of this city. And he values thee above all living men. He will bargain for a plot of ground, and smooth the way of thy grief before thee.”
“May Allah give peace to him and to thee! Nevertheless, I shall go with him to direct his judgment.”
In all the words of Shems-ud-dìn there was now a note of decision, almost cheerful, much at variance with his recent listless sorrow. Mâs and Zeyd ebn Abbâs marveled at his might of resignation.
CHAPTER XX
Impelled more by shame than prudence, Hassan Agha lay perdue with his men two days and nights after his outwitting by the garrison of El Cûds. The hours of sunlight were spent in lounging about the village of Zeyd’s wife’s relation, sitting smoking in the shade of the olive yards, or under screen of a rock in the wady; glozing over their defeat until, to the mind’s eye, it wore the hue of misfortune, and they were no more shamed.