But Najma is long gone; returns not; and the third-class Dodo will call again tomorrow.
Now, Abu-Najma brings out his rope, soaps it well, nooses and suspends it from the rafter in the ceiling. And when his daughter returns from the spring, he takes her by the arm, shows her the rope, and tells her laconically to choose between his Excellency and this.
Poor Najma has not the courage to die, and so soon. Her cousin Khalid is in prison, is excommunicated—what can she do? Run away? The Church will follow her—punish her. There’s something satanic in Khalid—the Church said so—the Church knows.
Najma rolls these things in her mind, looks at her father beseechingly. Her father points to the noose. Najma falls to weeping. The noose serves well its purpose.
For hereafter, when the Dodo comes decorated, she has to offer him the cushion, bring him the masnad , make for him the coffee. And eventually, as the visits accumulate, she goes with him to the dressmaker in Beirut.
The bridal gown shall be of the conventional silk this time; for his Excellency is travelled, and knows and reverences the fashion. But why prolong these painful details?
“Allah, in the mysterious working of his Providence,” says Shakib, “preordained it thus: Khalid, having served his turn in prison, Najma begins her own; for a few days after he was set free, she was placed in bonds forged for her by the Jesuits. Now, when Khalid returned from Damascus, he came straightway to me and asked that we go to see Najma and try to prevail upon her, to persuade her to go with him, to run away. They would leave on the night-train to Hama this time, and thence set forth towards Palmyra. I myself did not know what had happened, and