yell and shriek, the men murmur prayers, and the drum resounds,
while the procession is slowly moving toward the place of burial.

Mohammed hears nothing of all this. He has fled to the cave, once
his paradise, now his hell. There he lies on his mat, looking up
through the opening in the rock at the heavens, and cursing the
ghins who have robbed him of his mother. But his agathodaemon will
intercede with Allah for his forgiveness for the despair which
causes his lips to utter curses of which his heart knows nothing.
The good spirits will intercede for the poor boy.

Driven out into the world alone. Poorer than the eagle's brood in
their nest overhead, that have tender parents to care for them. No
one cares for me.

The echo mournfully repeats the piercing cry that had resounded
throughout the cave, and says sadly: "No one, no one." He then sinks
down on his mat, and lies there motionless and insensible with grief
and horror.

Without, the sea murmurs gently, as if to sing a song of
consolation. He hears it not. All is now so still that the little
snakes and green lizards with their sparkling eyes venture forth
again from the hiding places to which they had fled when his
despairing voice reverberated through the cave. They creep up to the
dark, motionless mass that lies there on the ground. The sun sends
its rays through the opening in the rock, and throws a streak of
golden light across the prostrate body, and the little animals crawl
and rustle about to enjoy the sunshine.