Barakah’s tone grew plaintive, almost tearful. The resolution in her words was mere bravado. She knew that she was utterly dependent on this friendly youth, whose company alone kept up her courage. From the moment of her turning back she had felt stupid, useless, relying on this boy to bring her to the cemetery, where she hoped to die. It seemed a certainty that if she prayed her utmost, full as her heart was, the vexed soul must leave the body, and the prayer by sheer brute force become acceptable. At thought of being baulked of her self-sacrifice, the boy’s help failing, she began to whimper.
“Nay, dearest lady, weep not!” he entreated. “By Allah, thou shalt neither walk nor go alone. I will conduct thee thither; but it may be necessary that we wait till morning, since the way is lonely and the haunt of ginn. See here, before us is my mother’s house. Deign to go in and rest awhile, and take refreshment, while I feed the donkey. I will make inquiries. If it is possible to go to-night, I swear to take thee. If not, thou canst rest here until the dawn.”
They had stopped before a doorway in a narrow alley. He went a little way into the gloom and whispered:
“O my mother!”
“Is it thou, Selîm?” came back the answer.
“O my mother, come at once! I have a lady, a great lady in disguise. She has run mad through grief in these bad times, and wants to go out to the cemetery. Receive her in thy house a minute, feed her, talk to calm her; while I discover if the way is safe.”
“The cemetery! Go not thither. Best come in and sleep.”
“The lady is distraught with grief. I reverence her like a parent. She is absent from the world; she does not hear us. I think that she is going to the tombs to pray. It were a good deed to conduct her thither.”
“True, wallahi! May Allah heal her soul, the poor one! These be dreadful times!”
A woman came out to the doorway, holding up an earthen lamp.