'I shall rest to-morrow,' said Khaled. 'To-night I will sit here and look at you, if you will sing to me.'
Zehowah gazed into his eyes, wondering a little at his exceeding sadness. Then she bowed her head and struck the strings of the instrument to a new measure more melancholy than the last, and sang an old song of many verses, with a weeping refrain.
'Are you also heavy at heart to-night?' Khaled asked, when he had listened to the end.
'It is not easy to kindle a lamp when the rain is falling heavily,' Zehowah said. 'Your sadness has taken hold of me, like the chill of a fever. I cannot laugh to-night'
'And yet you have a good cause, for they say that to-night the earth is to he delivered of a great malefactor, a certain Persian, whose name is perhaps Hassan, a notorious robber.'
Khaled turned away his head, smiling bitterly, for he desired not to see the satisfaction which would come into her face.
'This is a poor jest,' she answered in a low voice, and the barbat rolled from her knees to the carpet beside her.
'I mean no jesting, for I do not desire to disappoint you, since you will naturally be glad to be freed from me. But I am glad if you are willing to sing to me, for this night is very long.'
