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The Days of Mohammed by Anna May Wilson
page 83 of 246 (33%)

"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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