He loved her more than ever, it appeared, but thought her not much wiser than himself.

Her fear of the stern rules of El Islam was tamed by reverence.

“By Allah, they are like the string and we the beads,” said Umm ed-Dahak, holding up a rosary to point her meaning. “Thirty-three beads of no intrinsic worth. If scattered, useless and soon lost. If strung together, a comely instrument of praise to God.”

Barakah watched Muhammad with humility; not jealous of the change which had been wrought by others, but choosing to regard it as a miracle direct from Heaven. His pride, once wayward, now was focused on his coming manhood. He told her all his thoughts, which seemed to her most wise. He waited on her hand and foot when in her presence. Yet in this deference there was a touch of condescension which was absent from the honour which he paid to Yûsuf. His father was his sovereign, she his tender care. Such wisdom in so small a child appeared miraculous. She worshipped his perfections while he bowed before her.