Imagining her crime to be as great as that of Christian nun in breaking convent, and knowing that Murjânah Khânum could be ruthless, she expected torture; instead of which she was caressed and put to bed.
She had her lodging in Murjânah’s rooms, was dosed by Fitnah, comforted by Leylah Khânum. The younger ladies came as visitors and talked to cheer her. Old Umm ed-Dahak, not to be excluded, crouched by her bed and crooned as to an infant.
“Why are you all so kind to me?” she asked one day. “I tried to flee, I tell you, to escape to Europe—yet you pet me!”
“All things are pardoned to great grief,” replied Murjânah. “It was not thy fault, O poor one! Would to Allah I could show thee what I see more clearly than I see thee in this room—the power of God, His mercy all around us. Fain would I hear thee give Him praise for thy misfortune. He sees and knows; we fancy; it is weak to strive. Think, O my fawn, my lily, thou hast still one child; thou hadst thy boy for thy delight for fifteen years. More fortunate than I who lost all mine in infancy! What peace can come to woman in thy case who does not offer up her will to God? The men have promise of a certain paradise; we have no certitude of what awaits us. Yet are we not dejected, for we know God’s mercy, and leave the future gladly in His hands. We women are not bargainers, we serve for love; and the mercy of the Highest cannot fail. Thou hast been brought up otherwise to prouder thoughts. Humble thy soul if thou wouldst find relief.”
“I proud?” cried Barakah. “Thou, the proudest woman I have ever known, canst call me so? I am not as thou art—strong and dauntless, cruel in thy resignation. I am feeble and afraid.”
“May Allah strengthen thee and drive out fear!”
Barakah had lost the vision which had come from Tâhir’s singing—a vision which ignored divergences of race and custom. Without her son the harem life was senseless; she held the Muslim faith in secret dread; and longed for sentimental Christian people. Yûsuf, her husband, proved the soul of kindness, yet she had almost hated him in her revolt from all his race.
One day he told the ladies in her presence:
“The English are not bad. They take wise measures for the land’s redemption. They have asked me to take office, and I have a mind to do so.”
It was the first time she had heard the English mentioned since her reimprisonment. In fact, the Turkish pride had suffered cruelly from this intrusion of a European power, the more so that the natives of the land acclaimed it. Though the English arms restored their party in the State, the Turks in Egypt gnawed their lips and could not speak of them.
A new way of escape appeared to Barakah. She could obtain an audience of the English rulers and announce her longing to return to Christianity. She pined for the ideals of Christian lands, the independent life of women, and their varied interests. Here she had lost her value, having lost her son. She would soon be an old woman, a mere worn-out animal.
Directly she conceived this plan, she grew more cheerful, and even felt some kindness for the harem walls. While making her endeavour to find out from Yûsuf the names of Englishmen of influence, their character and reputation, she wanted to make certain he would be consoled.
“Light of my eyes,” she whispered, nestling to him, “I have quite outgrown my foolish prejudice. I beg thee now to wed another wife. The son I bore to thee is dead, and I grow old.”
“Wallahi, thou art still delicious,” he replied gallantly; but all the same he thanked her, seeming much relieved.
Perceiving that the anguish of her grief was past, the ladies let her go to her own house.
“Remember my advice,” said old Murjânah in farewell. “Behold, my eyes grow dim, my days are numbered. I speak not frivolously like the young. Give up thy will. That is to islam truly. May Allah grant thee resignation, which is strength.”
XXXVIII
She had not been in her own house a day, before she said to Umm ed-Dahak:
“Wilt thou do me a great service?”
“Wallahi, that will I! Even—saving thy presence—one most sinful!”
“And canst thou keep a secret from the seed of Adam?”
“Not only that, but from the walls and air.”
“I want a letter carried to a great one of the English.”
“I seek refuge in Allah!” gasped the old woman, grinning widely. “Knowest thou it is a crime unheard of that thou askest of me? Fie upon thee! Wallahi, if I did my duty I should leave thee straightway!”
But far from flying from her mistress she came nearer. Her wrinkles ran to smiles; her old eyes twinkled.
“Come, let us reason!” she remarked, as she sat down, and, fingering her lady’s hand, began the argument.
“If thou desirest recreation of a shameful kind, let me discover some devout believer. Thus the sin is less. Or better still, approach thy husband, tell him thou art weary, implore him of his mercy to release thee, with a portion of thy dowry. No man would refuse the offer after years of marriage. Then I could find thee a good Muslim, for diversion. But a Frank—an unbeliever! Ask me not! It is too horrible!”
“By Allah, my desire is not the thing thou thinkest!” Barakah made answer gaily. “This Englishman is one I knew in childhood. I would speak with him. The matter is no other than my lord’s advancement, though if he knew I meddled he would kill me!”
“Swear to that! But swear to that!” cried Umm ed-Dahak, much excited, “and I can do thy errand without sin. But if thy mind is for a Frank, I could unearth thee
