"I was with my future, Mother Khadra," said he in a low
voice. "I was with the days that are to come, the days when I shall
stand on the palace, a man, a hero, sword in hand, at my feet a
people looking up to me imploringly. You see, mother, your dream is
fulfilled, the hero who stands up there has again transformed
himself into your boy! He is here and greets you."
"But why is my boy pale and exhausted?" asked Sitta Khadra,
anxiously, as she clasped him in her arms.
"I don't know!" said he, wearily. "It seems to me that my feet
refuse to bear me longer, that something is drawing me upward. Let
us go to the hut, mother."
He grasped her arm hastily and led her away as though he were quite
strong, but Khadra observed that his lips trembled, and that his
face was pallid.
"He looks hungry," she murmured to herself. "Yes, I see he is
hungry! Buried in his thoughts, he has again forgotten to take
food."
She said no more, but walked hastily to the hut and led him in. "Son
of my heart, I have been awaiting you," said she, with an innocent
air. "I did not wish to partake of our simple supper until my son
had come home. Let us sit down and eat. Allah bless our meal!"
It does not escape her that his eye suddenly glitters as he looks at
the bread and dates brought yesterday by the boys as his tribute.
With a quick motion he stretches out his hand toward the fruit, but
suddenly withdraws it, as if ashamed of himself.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50