“By Allah, pretty! But I should not like to sleep there!” had been Gulbeyzah’s comment, little guessing what would happen. For next morning it was known to high and low, through all the city, that the bridegroom and the bride had died of suffocation. When people went to rouse them in the morning they found corpses. The news was brought to Barakah by Umm ed-Dahak, who had herself been present at the sad discovery. She told the story with an artist’s relish.

“What did Tâhir do? The poor demented father? What did he? He took his lute and struck the chords and sang a song more mournful than was ever heard on earth till now. Many present had to leave the room in grievous pains. And then, with the last note⁠— C‑r‑r‑a‑c‑k! ⁠—he broke the lute, and swore the binding oath that he would never sing again. Inshallah he will change his mind,” said Umm ed-Dahak, in her ordinary tone. “The world would lack a soul without his singing. His oath has spread despair through all the town.”