The mother's entreaties are ardent, and strong is her prayer to
Allah and to Nature.

The ghins, the evil spirits themselves, hold their breath and flap
their black wings more gently when they rustle past the spot where a
mother weeps and prays for her son!

But a tear drops from the eyes of the good spirits when they meet
such a mother, and this tear is potent to save her child. Perhaps at
this moment an agathodaemon has flown by, has seen the agonized
mother, and has let fall a tear upon the waters, for at this moment
they become more tranquil. Perhaps the ghins have suddenly been
swept away by the whirlwind, Zeboah, for the storm is now hushed.

The storm is stilled, though from time to time its mighty breath is
again heard; and then it is again mute, and the waves roll in upon
the shore less furiously. The sky, too, begins to grow clear. The
sun looks out from between the clouds, and throws a long golden
streak of light across the waves, as if to conciliate with its smile
the foaming sea, and smooth its furrowed brow.

Now, a single, mighty cry resounds from above, from the place where
the mother is kneeling. It seems to find its echo here below on the
shore where the men and boys are standing. It is a cry of joy, of
ecstasy. And all hands are raised and pointed across the water to
the spot where the island-rock, Imbro, must lie. It is not visible;
the waves have surged over it, as they always do when the storm
rages, but they know that it must lie there. And there--a black
spot! It dances on the waves, and is lifted above the white spray.