The streets by night were full of people, in striking contrast with their emptiness at noon that day. The mosques were all alight inside, and from the glimpse which Barakah obtained through open doorways appeared crowded.
She saw men making towards them through the press, embracing precious bundles, with the look of fugitives.
“Their fear is of the English,” said the donkey-boy. “Who knows what they will do by way of punishment?”
But the look on all the faces when a ray of light revealed them, the note of the vast murmur lapping the whole city, was rather of relief and comfort than anxiety. To hide away their treasures was a mere precaution which only madmen would neglect in presence of a conquering host; but men were thankful for the coming of the English, which meant an end to anarchy and wild suspense.
“Wallahi, they are warriors,” one orator was declaiming at a street corner. “The fight was far away at daybreak, and now behold them here among us in the citadel. Wallahi, they are mighty! They smite hard—one blow and all is said. Wallahi, they are not of those who loiter. They appeared among us like a vision of the rising night; they demanded the keys of our strong places as of right divine. The people in the street stood still and gaped on them, rubbing their eyes to ascertain that they were not asleep. May Allah make them merciful. The praise to Allah!”
The donkey-boy, who had been looking at the lady’s eyes at frequent intervals as if in expectation of a change of purpose, asked at length:
“Whither shall I conduct thee, O my mistress? Is it not thy wish to return to the house?”
“I have no house,” was her reply. “Did I not tell thee? To the El Afîfi cemetery!”
“Not by night! Hear reason, O my lady!” he besought her. “Tell me where thou dwellest, that I may conduct thee thither!”
“I go to the cemetery, as I told thee. It is necessary. If thou art weary of my service, I will pay thee and go out alone.”