"And do I love you? Your
mother's love struggled with Death for a whole year. He tried to
drag me hence, and I struggled with him day after day, and night
after night. Love helped me to deceive you, or you would have seen
your mother dying day by day. Now, I am going hence, and the
agathodaemon will give me new garments, and a new countenance full
of youth and beauty, that your father may see me as I looked in the
days of our youthful love. O my son, may the woman you are to love
be not far distant; may she soon wing her flight to you, the dove of
innocence, with the countenance of love and the fragrance of the
rose? May she open heaven unto you with her star-like eyes? This is
my last blessing, my son. Allah watch over you! Farewell!"
The words were soft and low, like the whispering of a departing
spirit. Mohammed had listened eagerly, his ear held close to her
lips, and he still listened when the light of his mother's eyes was
extinguished, and the hand of Death had swept over her countenance,
imparting to the white brow a yellow, and to the lips a blue tint.
Suddenly he shuddered, raised his head and looked at his mother. He
then uttered a shriek, a loud, fearful shriek, that caused the
mourning-women outside to bound to their feet, for they knew that it
was thus that survivors shriek when Death seizes his prey.
They now commence their mournings, and farther off other cries and
lamentations are heard.
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