“O Lord, have mercy! Am I not dead already?”
Mâs grinned and brought his goad to bear upon the leading mule, which had stopped in a vain endeavor to bite its flank.
They were engaged in climbing the brow of a ridge by a path embarrassed with loose stones and occasional smooth rocks, treacherous to the hoofs. Shems-ud-dìn led the way upon his old white horse, whose tail kept swishing. He was followed by Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, a deplorable figure surmounting the last of asses. At the crown of the ascent the sheykh drew rein, allowing Zeyd to come up beside him.
“Praise to Allah!” he exclaimed, with hand shading his eyes.
Before them upon the sun-bleached slopes grew many trees, of dark foliage which looked rusty as compared with its own rich shadow.
“Praise to Allah!” echoed Zeyd, and therewith groaned, for the hour of parting was come.
At the foremost knot of trees a halt was made; the litter was set down, and the beasts took their ease in battle with the flies. Fatmeh stepped forth from her prison, strictly veiled, and sat down on the farther side of the trunks from that where her lord reclined. Zeyd lay down before the sheykh and ground his forehead in the mast from those trees. He wept:
“O dear lord! All my life shall I thank Allah for the memory of thee. Hereafter, when thou art dead and thy remains are covered with a white tomb, a wely where good men pause to pray, Zeyd will be thy pilgrim yearly. Now, after an hour or two, if God will, I shall see again my own house, my woman, and all belonging to me. By means of this ass, which the owner would not receive again, I travel comfortably. My soul will rejoice in the home-coming. Yet shall I never forget thee, O my guide. Till the Last Day I am the better for thee. May Allah reward thee for thy mercy toward me—thou high and learned, I the meanest in the land.”
“O kindest, O best, O most patient of all men living,” cried Shems-ud-dìn, striving to raise him.