“The heat is spent,” he told her. “Best be moving! It is back into the city⁠—not so?⁠—thy command? Much better than to journey to the sea, like this, without provision. Say, which way?”

Barakah pointed a direction listlessly. She had no wish to enter Cairo before dark, so chose a long way round, among the fields.

Soon the sunset reddened all the plain, stretching their shadows far before them on the dyke. The citadel upon its height was hotly flushed one minute, the next ash-grey and lifeless like a skull. It lived in her imagination as a monstrous spider which held her with its web and drew her in.

The donkey-boy beside her prattled ceaselessly.

“O lady, I will not forsake thee⁠—no, by the Prophet, never, till thy mind is healed. Do I know the cemetery El Afîfi? Wallahi! I can guide thee thither. Not a bad idea; for Allah comforts those who visit the deceased. By the Sayyid Ahmad, thou art as my mother. May God cut short my life if I desert thee in thy present state.”