“O my lady, how hadst thou the heart to cause us such despair? Think of it! One like thee, alone and in the streets at such a time, when all authority is in abeyance, and the English host may come at any moment with the lust of conquerors! A hundred men were searching for thee through the night. My lord the Pasha thought that grief might lead thee to the place of tombs, and he himself went thither with the slaves enjoined to hide our valuables. Praise be to Allah, thou art found at last! Take comfort, O my lady! Often and often have I grieved for thee, alone among us! And when our great calamity befell⁠—alas, that son of mine should bear such evil tidings!⁠—I prayed to Allah to reveal to thee His boundless mercy. For it has no limits. For all who suffer in this world He will redress the balance. Even the unhorned cattle, O my lady! It is written.”

Barakah heard these consolations as a dreary murmur.

“I am taking thee to the late Pasha’s house, to the great lady,” he informed her. “My lord considers it will be less sad for thee.”