But neither to sheikh nor to villager was it given to find the man.
But one evening there came a knocking at the door of the house which Mahommed still kept in the lowest Muslim quarter of the town, a woman who hid her face and was of more graceful figure than was familiar in those dark purlieus.

The door was at once opened, and Mahommed, with a cry, drew her inside.
"Zaida--the peace of God be upon thee," he said, and gazed lovingly yet sadly upon her, for she had greatly changed.
"And upon thee peace, Mahommed," she answered, and sat upon the floor, her head upon her breast.
"Thou hast trouble at," he said, and put some cakes of dourha and a meated cucumber beside her.

She touched the food with her fingers, but did not eat.

"Is thy grief, then, for thy prince who gave himself to the lions ?" he asked.
"Inshallah! Harrik is in the bosom of Allah.

He is with Fatima in the fields of heaven--was I as Fatima to him?
Nay, the dead have done with hurting." "Since that night thou hast been lost, even since Harrik went.