"You promise me to wear these clothes?" said he, a smile suddenly
illuminating his face.

Khadra seated herself, spread out the beautiful goods, and regarded
them with a mournful smile. "It looks like mockery."

"No, not like mockery, but like pure love," said the boy, eagerly.
"My love dresses you in purple and gold, and I wish to see Sitta
Khadra the most brilliant among women." A blissful smile suffused
itself over his features. But suddenly this smile disappeared, and
his countenance assumed an expression of care and anxiety. At this
moment he saw how pale his mother was. Her pallor contrasted
strangely with the purple lustre of the goods she held in her hands.

"You are not ill, Mother Khadra; you are not suffering?" said he, in
the same anxious tone in which he had so often asked.

"No, my son, I am not ill," said she, regarding him calmly.

"When I shall some day wear this beautiful dress, and this gold-
embroidered veil, you will take delight in me. Thank you, child of
my heart, light of my eyes! Thank you for this, splendid present I
will hold it in honor while life lasts."

"I thank you for accepting it, and beg you not to be angry with me
for having been so violent," said Mohammed, entreatingly, as he
kissed his mother's extended hand. "Tell me once more, mother, are
you well; do you feel no pain?"

"I feel well, and am not suffering," said she, regarding him