Dismounting under leaves, she sank upon the ground and wept despairingly. The tears, which bitter grief had failed to wring from her, flowed freely for her impotence. Escape was hopeless. Her project now appeared the last absurdity. The change of clothes, the change of manners, now presented difficulties which she felt that she would never have the strength to overcome. The donkey-boy’s consoling words, his friendly grin, were teasing. She sent him to fetch water from a village near at hand. He came back with a pitcher and two slabs of bread; which so revived her spirit that she once more saw beyond the moment and conceived a plan.

She would wait till nightfall and then seek the city of the dead, to die on her son’s grave, if Allah willed it. At least she would spend all the night in prayer imploring Allah’s mercy for him in the name of Christ.

She had sat a long while, cross-legged, gazing straight before her, her hands locked in her lap, when a soft voice disturbed her. The donkey-boy was plucking at her sleeve.