CHAPTER XVI
TWIRLING TO PARADISE
It is the Night of the Middle of Shabân, perhaps the most sacred, not to say awful, night in the whole Mohammedan year. For at a little after sunset this evening the Sidr—that mystic lote-tree which bears as many leaves as there are living beings in the world—will be shaken by the appointed angel in Paradise; and on each leaf that comes fluttering down from it will be found inscribed the name of some person who is fated to die before the year is out. If he be destined to die very soon his leaf is almost wholly withered; if later in the year a larger portion of it is still green; but whether immediate or delayed his death within the prescribed period is assured. To every devout Moslem, there-
