The Days of Mohammed by Anna May Wilson
page 83 of 246 (33%)
page 83 of 246 (33%)
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"Hold!" cried a voice from the air above. "Who are you, Mohammed, who can dare to promise that which belongs to the Creator alone? Impostor, take heed!" It was only Yusuf, who, in his anxiety to discover if the gloomy vale were indeed the nest of some daring mountain chief, had noiselessly descended to an overhanging ledge, and had heard the last confident assertion of the prophet. But the utmost consternation fell upon the Arabs below. Some, believing the voice to be that of a demon of the rock, were seized with sudden panic; others shouted excitedly, "Spies! spies!" and the assembly broke up in confusion, all scurrying off, leaving Yusuf and his guide again alone on the rock. "Amzi! Amzi!" shouted the priest, with a forlorn hope that his friend might have lingered behind the fleeing party; but the only response was the beat of hoofs flying in every direction, and the dull thud of the camels' padded feet. There was nothing better to be done than wait until morning, so Yusuf and the guide lay down on the hard rock for the rest of the night. For some time after this affairs seemed to be at a standstill. Mohammed still continued to preach, now from the hill Safa, now from the knoll El Akaba at the north of the town. His wife, Cadijah, had died some time before, and he had since married a widow, Sawda, and become betrothed to a child, Ayesha, the daughter of his friend and disciple, Abu Beker. |
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