“Thou mistakest, O my dear! Be comforted!” cried Fitnah Khânum, while the other women round her exchanged pitying glances.

“Thou art not yet perfect in our prudent customs; but thy friend, though not a Muslimah, has learnt them, having been much longer in the land. Hast thou forgotten my instructions touching El Carînah? Nor is she alone to be redoubted, since Allah Himself abhors a boastful spirit, and dishonours those who make too much of any creature.⁠ ⁠…”

“O Lord! I know all that!” wailed Barakah. “But she disliked my child, despised him! I⁠—I saw it!”

Conviction that the portion of the human race from which she sprang beheld her son as little better than a monkey, tortured Barakah. She had looked upon him as a mediator, but now sought revenge. Hot, feverish dreams of hate disturbed her rest; and when a spell of khamsîn weather robbed the world of energy she grew as weak and fretful as her thoughts were wild.