As if in confirmation of his words, the voice of Ghandûr shouted in the street without: “Make haste, O Hamdi! Lo, the sun is high! The shadow is already on the stone thou fixedst for a limit when I let thee enter.”

“Thou hearest,” snuffled Hamdi, “how they hound me? He has my wedding garments in a bundle⁠—O my hatred! Guests have been bidden⁠—may their fathers perish! Go to my mother (she will hear thee); plead that I may be allowed a few months’ respite. It is Na’imah who, through her mother, hastens on the match. She would destroy my newfound freedom and torment me.”

Barakah could not help laughing, though she uttered words of comfort. Na’imah was a very pretty girl, she pointed out, and not ill-natured, though a great coquette. He would have none of it, but shook his head with ominous frowns.

“I hate her!” he declared. “And knowest thou? I have a mind to drown myself this morning at the bath.”

Then, as Ghandûr’s calls became insistent, he left the room with slow, reluctant steps.