Soada's eyes were on him now with a strange, swimming brilliancy.

"Mahommed--Mahommed Selim, Allah touched thine eyes that thou didst see
truly," she said eagerly. "Speak not till I have done," he answered.
"When I waked again I was alone in the desert, no food, no water, and the
dead camel beside me. But I had no fear. 'If it be God's will,' said I,
'then I shall come unto Soada. If it be not God's will, so be it: for
are we not on the cushion of His mercy, to sleep or to wake, to live or
to die?'"

He paused, tottering, and presently sank upon the ground, his hands
drooped before him, his head bent down. Old Fatima touched him on the
shoulder.

"Brother of vultures didst thou go forth; brother of eagles dost thou
return," she said. "Eat, drink, in the house of thy child and its
mother."

"Shall the unforgiven eat or drink?" he asked, and he rocked his body to
and fro, like one who chants the Koran in a corner of El Azhar,
forgetting and forgotten.

Soada's eyes were on him now as though they might never leave him again;
and she dragged herself little by little towards him, herself and the
child--little by little, until at last she touched his feet, and the
child's face was turned towards him from its mother's breast.

"Thou art my love, Mahommed Selim," she said. He raised his head from
his hands, a hunger of desire in his face.