A very faint perfume from her hair came to him, now that he was so close to her.
"I don't want to be that ever."
He held her, and, while he held her, he listened to the Nubian sailors and to the word that was nearly always upon their tireless lips.
"Al-lah—Al-lah—Al-lah!"
God was there in the night, by the great, mysterious Nile, that flows from such far-off sources in the wild places of the earth; God was attending to them—to him and Ruby. He had the simple faith almost of a child in a God who knew each thing that he thought, each thing that he did. Thousands of men have this faith, and thousands of men conceal it as they might conceal a sin. They fear their own simplicity.
The purpose of God, was it not very plain before him? He thought now that it was. What he had to do was to restore this woman's confidence in the goodness that exists by having a firm faith in the goodness existing in her, by not letting that faith be shaken, as he had let it be shaken that day.
He hated himself for having wounded her, and as he hated himself his strong arms closed more firmly round her, trying to communicate physically to her the resolution he was forming.
And the Nubian sailors went on singing.
To him that night they sang of God.
To her they sang of Mahmoud Baroudi.