Then, having watched him depart, he caused Mâs to fetch a lantern and light him up a dark and broken stair to the roof of the hostelry, whence he could view the perfect flower of night and drink its fragrance. The city slept around him. Except for light here and there in some upper chamber, for the shapen Dome of the Rock and a few minarets, he might have thought it an outcrop of black rock on the face of the hills. Far away to the eastward, across a gulf, appeared the rampart of his own land, vague and dreamy beneath the stars. Peace fell about him like a pleasant rain. To-morrow he would go hand in hand with his long-lost son. To-morrow, for the last time, he would visit the grave of Alia. To-morrow, ere the sunset, he would take leave of the wicked city never to return. If Allah willed. Alia was dead, his blindness gone. Once more he could see clearly the right way. Once more he enjoyed access to the mercy of the Most High. CHAPTER XXVIII The year’s last rain had fallen and the power of the summer sun was fresh on all the land. With thanks to Allah, the little party of travelers approached the region of great trees in the highland beyond Es-Salt. Mâs, walking beside the litter which contained Fatmeh, wiped his face with his hand repeatedly and shook off the drops thus reaped upon the ground. “It is hot, O mother of stale delights,” he observed friendly. “How fares it with thee inside there?” “I stifle—I expire,” moaned Fatmeh. “Take heart, O waning moon! The shade is at hand. Already I can see one bûtm tree—a black head like mine above the hill. But shade is the parent of flies, winged devils. Mules stung by them wax restless. Thy charms will be sorely shaken.” “O Lord, have mercy! Am I not dead already?” Mâs grinned and brought his goad to bear upon the leading mule, which had stopped in a vain endeavor to bite its flank. They were engaged in climbing the brow of a ridge by a path embarrassed with loose stones and occasional smooth rocks, treacherous to the hoofs. Shems-ud-dìn led the way upon his old white horse, whose tail kept swishing. He was followed by Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, a deplorable figure surmounting the last of asses. At the crown of the ascent the sheykh drew rein, allowing Zeyd to come up beside him. “Praise to Allah!” he exclaimed, with hand shading his eyes. Before them upon the sun-bleached slopes grew many trees, of dark foliage which looked rusty as compared with its own rich shadow. “Praise to Allah!” echoed Zeyd, and therewith groaned, for the hour of parting was come. At the foremost knot of trees a halt was made; the litter was set down, and the beasts took their ease in battle with the flies. Fatmeh stepped forth from her prison, strictly veiled, and sat down on the farther side of the trunks from that where her lord reclined. Zeyd lay down before the sheykh and ground his forehead in the mast from those trees. He wept: