He smote his donkey, and they jogged along once more, out through new suburbs to the open fields. The sun was an armed foe, the dust a persecutor; her habbarah and face-veil made a sheath of fire. The donkey-boy kept looking at her with compassion, smiling encouragement whenever he could meet her gaze. He thought her mad, and so indulged her fancy, assuring her that it would not take long to reach the sea. But when she murmured of the heat and wished to rest, he showed immense relief.

“That is the best,” he cried. “Wait till I find some pleasant shade for thee. See, yonder is a tree. There thou shalt rest till the great heat is past, and then, at thy command, we can resume the journey.”