"But it is foolish to be so anxious. Masa is fond of going out to
the sea to listen to the murmuring and whispering of the waves. My
child is pious, and may have gone to the mosque to pray and to thank
Allah. That is it--she has gone to the mosque."
The sheik rushes out into the street. It is well that the mosque is
not far from his dwelling. The doors are open; Masa is surely there,
probably on her knees in one of the recesses, addressing herself to
her prayers. No, she is not there; the recesses are empty, and she
is not up in the choir with the women either.
"She is nowhere in the mosque; but she may be down on the beach."
The sheik no longer felt the weight of his years, he no longer felt
exhausted by the fatigues of the preceding day.
He is young again, and his blood is coursing through his veins. With
head erect and firm footstep he walks down to the beach.
"Masa, my child, come to me; hasten to your father's arms!" he
cries; so loudly that his voice drowns the noise of the rushing
waves. But no one replies. Masa is not there.
A wild cry of terror resounds from his lips, he sinks down upon the
shore exhausted, and stares out at the waves as though he would ask,
"Have you seen my child; has she gone to you; has she sought a
resting-place in your cold bosom?" Yet why should she do so? Masa is
happy and loves her father, why does she then torment him thus? Masa
must have gone to some of her neighbors.
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