Barakah had not made many steps outside the house before she was completely lost. Although for sixteen years her home had been in Cairo, she had never walked in the streets before. Which was the way? She could not tell, but went on bravely, hoping for some guide. At last she met a donkey-driver with a pleasant face. In answer to her timid hail, he smiled delighted and praised his Maker for the honour of her patronage. “To the railway station,” she enjoined at mounting, and he answered “Ready!”
Away they went, arousing echoes in the stony alleys, the driver shouting as he ran beside the ambling beast. Barakah felt exhilarated by the change of motion, the little spice of danger when they dashed round corners, or charged some group of wayfarers with warning cries. The first stage of her flight would soon be over; and once on board the train, she thought, escape was sure.