During the heat of summer, part of the harÎm, consisting of the ladies Barakah and Fitnah, with their children and attendants, stayed at a farm belonging to the Pasha, on the banks of the Nile, near Benha. The journey thither was performed on donkeys in a long procession with a eunuch at its head and tail, a eunuch boy leading the donkey of each lady, that she might have freedom to hold up her sunshade and munch nuts and sweetstuff. The slave-girls, some of them, rode two together; they waxed hilarious, exchanging jests with all who passed them on the dyke. Their going raised a goodly cloud of dust. The house to which they went was large and formal, none too clean, though very sparsely furnished. Behind it was a filthy yard hemmed in by hovels, where dwelt the fellÂhÎn who worked the farm. Before it was a garden of fruit trees, and beyond that a plantation of young date-palms. There was also a big tree beside a water-wheel, where the ladies took their pleasure in the shade. The land was absolutely flat in all directions, but diversified in hue by divers crops, broken here and there by clumps of trees and squat mud villages.

Here manners were relaxed; for all the peasant women went unveiled, and their example made the slaves less strict than in the city. The lady Fitnah, being of the country, took delight in talking with the villagers, both men and women, and thus, though most correct in her apparel, set the fashion of unbending. YÛsuf, who had now a Government appointment, and the Pasha came to see them when they had the leisure; and GhandÛr also travelled down to see his wife.

To please the lady Fitnah, Barakah gave French and English lessons to the children in the mornings under the great tree, when many of the servants also gathered round and tried to learn. She was begged to be particularly strict with Hamdi, whom the lady Fitnah seemed to think the soul of wickedness, as indeed did everybody else, making his life a burden with perpetual scolding.

This boy, her husband’s younger brother, was attached to Barakah as the only one who never shook him by the neck or cursed him. He told her all his woes, and brought her offerings of curious things he found in his illicit rambles. He was always straying, though with no worse object, he asserted, than the wish to be alone. His lady mother called him “stupid Turk,” vowing that he was all his father’s child, and she herself had neither part nor lot in him; though Hamdi was the true Egyptian adolescent, still but half awake, a slave to every breeze, to every odour, and fascinated by the sight of gleaming objects. He would sit still for hours in contemplation of a sunlit blade of grass; at other times he would walk miles, drawn on invisibly, with great brown eyes which seemed to harbour visions. Barakah found him gentle and obedient. In truth, his only wickedness that she could see consisted in resentment of shrill interruptions. At such times he would battle blindly with assailants, cursing them, and crying out, in his despair:

“Am I not a man full-grown? Do I not sleep in the selamlik? Then let me be, or it shall be the worse for you, by Allah!”

“A man full-grown, thou sayest?” screamed the lady Fitnah one evening when he came home soaked in mud from head to foot. “Listen, O child of dogs, O malefactor! Knowest thou what I shall do on our return to town? I shall marry thee at once to Na’imah, thy uncle’s child. Thy clothes are in a filthy state, thy tassel gone. Thou hast been sprawling in some ditch, O piggish boy! By the Prophet, I shall do as I have said. Sure, matrimony is the only cure for one like thee. Thou shalt wed Na’imah.”

“Allah forbid!” exclaimed the lad with fervour; whereat the ladies and the servants burst out laughing; for Na’imah, Leylah KhÂnum’s youngest daughter, had been Hamdi’s chief tormentor there at home, disturbing his still dreams with impish glee, and quick to vanish.

“Is it not cruel thus to hound me?” the unlucky boy asked Barakah. “I do no wrong; they interfere with me. And now my mother threatens to unite me to the most hateful daughter of a dog that ever yelped and bit.”

The month of Ramadan came on them in their country life; and the long hours of heat without a bite or sup made everybody irritable except Barakah and the wife of GhandÛr, who were both exempt from fasting—the former as an invalid, the latter as a nursing-mother. The slave-girls lost their usual delight in birds and greenery. A gun fired in the distant market-town announced the moment of release in the first bloom of night; but the party failed to hear it sometimes, and looked out for the lighting of the lamps around a village mosque across the plain. At once arose vast sighs of praise to Allah; cigarettes, prepared in readiness, were seized and lighted; water was handed round and food set out.

It was at that blest hour upon a certain evening of the sacred month that a rapturous surprise befell the party. A little cavalcade was seen approaching on the dyke. It consisted of two donkeys and a baggage mule. A woman sat upon the foremost donkey; on the second rode two children, boy and girl; while the mule was led by a black-bearded, turbaned man of noble presence. The ladies, sitting in the garden, peered, then shouted:

“TÂhir! It is TÂhir! TÂhir, the great singer! O most blessed day! Enter, O son of honour! Deign to favour us!”

Learning that the master of the house was absent, TÂhir would not enter, but sought a lodging in the hovels of the fellÂhÎn, whither a rich meal was sent to him. But after supper he came up into the garden with his lute, followed timidly by all the population of the hamlet; and his wife and children stole into the room where all the women sat with windows open, looking forward to the concert. Once more his little daughter drew to Barakah, and, having kissed her hand, sat down and leaned against her. “I love thee,” she explained, with a soft look; and then with a wide yawn exclaimed: “I am so tired!” Barakah put her arm about her, and the child seemed happy. She did not go to sleep this time, however, but lay still, fondling her protector’s hand, and gazing up at the great stars.

“See, what a man he is!” exclaimed the Galla slave, FatÛmah, her hand upon the shoulder of her mistress, all respect forgotten in intense excitement. “He does not even stay to tune his lute. All that is for the common singers. He is much above it. By Allah, he would sing to a dog’s howl and make it musical.”

One twang of the lute, and then the magic voice arose from out the shadow of the trees. It gave a living spirit to the starlight, a soul to all the nights that ever were or would be. It seemed illumination, yet was all of mystery; it gave the listener a sense of floating disembodied.

Once when TÂhir paused to rest, the voice of Hamdi was heard in the garden, begging for leave to hold his lute and play it.

“That boy again! Cut short his life!” cried Fitnah KhÂnum. “Devoid of manners as of sensibility. Remove him quickly!”

But TÂhir answered pleasantly: “Here, O my son! Take it and play for me. Observe the measure. Strike loudly in the pauses, softly while I sing.” And FatÛmah, quite beside herself, exclaimed:

“Behold the man he is! He can dispense with all things. That which would ruin the performance of another singer is a joy to him.”

Hamdi acquitted himself fairly well of the task of accompaniment and won a word of praise from TÂhir, which so moved him that when the singer was departing the next morning early, he stole out to him, and, looking round to ascertain that he was heard of none save Barakah, entreated:

“Take me with thee, O my uncle. Instruct me, let me play for thee for ever. This girl, thy daughter, this little sugar-plum, shall be my bride. Then we can all live happily together.”

“The honour is too high for us, O my small lord!” the singer answered, with his charming smile. “Thy lot in life is better far, in sh´Allah, than that of us poor players.”

“But they say that thou canst earn a hundred pounds a night.”

“Seldom as much as that, beloved. And my living is at Allah’s pleasure. It is a gift from Him, to whom be praise. Come to me four years hence, and we will think about it.”

With a dignified salute he started off; the children, on their donkey, waved their hands and screamed farewell. Hamdi was left standing disappointed and a trifle injured.

“O my misfortune!” he exclaimed to Barakah. “I would have given my right hand to go with him. Like that I could escape from persecution and accursed Na’imah, and dwell for ever in the sound of music which transports my soul. Allah is greatest!”

And he heaved a mighty sigh.

When the month of fasting ended, there were mild rejoicings. The fellÂhÎn fired guns and let off fireworks. The women smoked too much and over-ate themselves, and felt aggrieved at being far from Cairo, where the means of satisfaction were more varied and abundant.

Then YÛsuf and the Pasha came and stayed a week; delighted, coming fresh to it, with the unoccupied existence over which the others had begun to yawn. At the end of the week they all returned to Cairo, the procession of the ladies keeping half a mile behind their lords. The first view of the citadel on one hand, the pyramids of GÎzah on the other, called forth thankful shouts. The coloured, noisy streets, the odours sweet and foul, the atmosphere of teeming life, excited Barakah. She joined in exclamations of delight.

While she gazed with strange eyes at her gilded salon, superintending the disposal of her baggage, a letter was presented to her by FatÛmah. It had been given to the latter that same minute by SawwÂb the eunuch, who had had it in safe keeping for two months. It was from Mrs. Cameron.

Barakah, frowning, opened it and read:

“It grieves me much to learn that you have been seriously ill. I heard of this quite by accident from Doctor Torranelli, whom I chanced to meet at a friend’s house. In some anxiety, I tried to call upon you yesterday, but learnt that you are absent in the country. I trust that the dear baby flourishes. He must be a great comfort and delight to you. Please never forget that I am your sincere friend.”

With an exclamation of annoyance, she tore up the note.