The professional muezzin on the ground behind her was rocking with enjoyment, gasping, sobbing: “Enough, O Tâhir! Of thy kindness, stop! Wouldst kill me quite? I faint, expire! It is too much of rapture! See me die! Praise be to Allah for the faith of El Islam. Praise to the benign Creator who has vouchsafed a voice to creatures for His glory!”

Another whispered: “That is no man’s song, but the song of Israfîl. Surely the last day is dawning. Praise to Allah!” And yet another murmured: “Praise to Him who sleepeth not nor dieth, the Merciful, the Compassionate, the Light of Lights, the Living King!”

Selîm the donkey-boy had come up with Ghandûr. They spoke no word to Barakah until the last note died. By then the pallor of the dawn shone on them faintly, showing the look of sadness which succeeds enchantment. Ghandûr then came and kissed the hand of Barakah, begging her of her kindness to return with him.

He and Selîm together lifted her on to the donkey.