On the recurrence of certain anniversaries, at the two Bairams and in the month of Ragab, all Muslim Cairo left the city of the living for the cities of the dead adjoining it upon the east and south. Mothers of sorrow like MurjÂnah KhÂnum, whose heart was with her children in the grave, inhabited the mausoleums for a week or more; but the majority performed a one-day visit.

Blue night alive with stars was at her lattice when Barakah was softly roused by her attendants and arrayed in proper garb. She found Leylah KhÂnum and her daughters waiting for her by the mabeyn screen, where the eunuch had a heap of roses and of henna-flowers to give them, as well as branches of palm and sweet basil. With these they made their way out to the carriage.

The principal streets were thronged with people going in the same direction: men in clean robes, who yawned, still half asleep; women, black-shrouded, bearing palm-branches, with trays of eatables upon their heads; small girls in tinselled gauze of divers colours, and boys in stiff new clothing—all with earnest faces, pressing out towards the cemeteries. Barakah kept peeping through the shutter at the solemn crowd, to which the fitful gleam of swinging lanterns added weirdness. The concourse gave forth a dull clatter, above which was heard the rumble of the carriage wheels upon the stones, the shouts the coachman raised to clear a way. Then suddenly all noise of going ceased, although their wheels still rolled and the besetting throng was even denser than before. They were on sand. The people murmured like a shell. The desert hill rose imminent against the stars. On all sides spread a wilderness of humble graves, each with its family group encamped beside the headstone. Then came a steep incline, up which the horses struggled under whip and cursing; and lo! they were once more in city streets. On every hand rose shadowy buildings, domes, and minarets. A swarm of beggars went from door to door with sacks and trays collecting doles of food.

Alighting at the gate of a large mosque-like building, Barakah and her companions were conducted through a courtyard to the women’s quarters. Fitnah and MurjÂnah, who had spent the night there with attendants, made them welcome; after which they paid a visit to the mausoleum proper, or the women’s side of it—for the house of death itself was subdivided by a harÎm screen. Here, in a gloom made spectral by the hanging lamps, women of repute for sanctity, hired mourners, were reciting the CorÂn, and through the screen some male professors could be heard performing the same office in strong nasal tones. The visitors bestowed their flowers and bits of palm among the graves, and, having said some prayers, returned to the apartment, where preparations for a feast were being made.

Already the muezzin’s chant announced the dawn. MurjÂnah KhÂnum was at her devotions on a corner of the dais. The other ladies, who deemed prayer the man’s affair, helped in the work of setting out the breakfast. While this was going on, a woman and three children rushed in from the twilight court, and with loud blessings began kissing hands.

“It is the wife and children of the guardian of this place, who makes the graves,” Na’imah, her nearest neighbour, informed Barakah. “They come for their accustomed gifts of food and raiment. See, Fitnah KhÂnum is just going to bestow them in the name of all of us.”

A minute later the grave-digger’s wife and children were at Barakah, kissing her hand repeatedly and crying, “May it be many a year ere we receive thee here, O queen of charms.”

The Englishwoman shivered at this form of compliment; and then a strange old woman, who had been observing her, sidled across the room and squatted at her feet.

“O Umm ed-Dahak, welcome!” exclaimed Na’imah. “Where hast thou been this long while, that we have not seen thee? There has been no fun at all in life without thee. How is thy health? What new jests dost thou bring us?”

But the old woman had not come, it seemed, to talk to Na’imah; for, replying to these questions in the briefest manner possible, she addressed herself to Barakah in coaxing whispers.

“Art thou not happy, O my pearl? I could see from over there that something ailed thee. Is it the thought of death, the air of tombs? The spectacle of graves should rather cheer the living. Give praise to God that thou art still alive; enjoy existence! Allah is merciful! It is certain that He has made provision for our sex hereafter—a finer paradise than that of men, in sh´Allah! Ha, ha! What faces, thinkest thou, the men would wear if they knew that we had heavenly youths for our enjoyment, in our place apart? By Allah, it would spoil their pleasure in the black-eyed maids! I see them sulking even in the home of bliss.... The air is chill thus early; the end of night is always a sad hour. A delicate soft flower like thee is dashed by it. Come, let me talk to warm thee. I am called the Mother of Laughter, thou hast heard!...

“Knowest thou what my daughter said in her soul when first her spouse unveiled her? She said (and be the saying far from thee), the while she stood with eyes downcast and bosom rising, falling, ‘May Allah strike me blind this minute if I am half so innocent as thou art, O my knowing lord!’ And she managed him, I can assure thee. Ah, she fooled him perfectly—exclaiming ever at his wisdom, bowing to his lightest word. It is thus we subtle ones beguile the world—the great strong simpleton!—never opposing, lest he knock us down. By Allah, I must ask thy pardon for thus prattling; but ladies condescend to find my talk amusing. I can recount the origin of all that is, being most learned in religious matters. If I chose, I could be howling with those cats in there,”—she nodded towards the hired performers in the tomb,—“but they are hypocrites and gloomy. I love merriment. It has long been my desire to meet a foreign lady, to whom I might impart my knowledge of this land. The Franks have great intelligence, and would admire my lore. All the stories of the harÎm I can teach thee....

“Thou knowest the three wives of Ali Bey El Halebi. The red-haired one—the former slave—was killed last night. I had it but an hour ago from a sure source. Her sin, though great, was pardonable, Allah knows. Her husband had neglected her disgracefully: the fact is known. She turned for comfort to a street musician. She lost her wit, it seems, and made confession. I could have saved her, with the help of Allah, had she come to me. The eunuchs held her so—and, click! her neck was severed. Her corpse is floating down the Nile, dismembered, or buried in the garden—Allah knows! Ah! I could keep thee interested for a year together.”

The old creature’s flattery, more subtle in the tone and manner than the words convey, was irresistible; her twinkling eyes and ever-shifting wrinkles aroused the Englishwoman’s sense of humour, which had long been dormant.

“Praise be to Allah, thou art better!” smiled the crone.

The sun had risen now; the lamps were useless; the city of the dead was blushing like the rose; the chanting of the readers in the tomb had lost its sadness. Barakah was staring at the strange old woman’s face, now plainly visible. Where had she known it? Feature for feature, it resembled one which had been long imprinted in her memory. Umm ed-Dahak grinned when she became aware of this perplexity. With a very roguish look for one so old, she laid her cheek upon her open palm and whispered, “YÛsuf! Come!” It was the same old creature who, luring the future bride of YÛsuf from her chamber in Muhammad Pasha’s house, had been seized and beaten by the eunuchs in the hall, and never seen again until this day.

“Rememberest thou?” she slyly asked. “Allah witness, I was tempted with a bribe. Young men are devils! Never ask me to explain. I cannot bear to be reminded of it, may Our Lord forgive me! We are all weak creatures and succumb occasionally; but Fitnah KhÂnum will assure thee I am to be trusted.”

With that and a most friendly smile, she edged away, repairing straight to Fitnah KhÂnum, with whom she held some animated conversation in low tones. The lady, at her instance, shortly came across to Barakah and whispered:

“That old woman seeks thy patronage. I myself have found her useful and obliging. To thee, a foreigner, she could afford much help. Thou needest some one. Umm ed-Dahak is the best I know.”

“Umm ed-Dahak!” cried out Na’imah. “Why, there is no creature in the world to match her for facetiousness. She was the rapture of our life as children. Nobody could be dull or sad with Umm ed-Dahak. She is like a monkey and a clever servant and a mother all in one!”

This joyful cry was overheard by Leylah KhÂnum, who frowned upon her daughter and rebuked her sharply. In that place conversation must be held in whispers and only ritual words pronounced aloud. The party breakfasted in solemn silence, to the sound of chanting from the tomb. But the aged Mother of Laughter smiled and nodded—even winked—at Barakah whenever their eyes met, which was not seldom; and the Englishwoman had a new sensation of relief and sympathy. At last she had found somebody who understood her.