He climbed back into the saddle and rode lonely away, followed by shouts of good will from all the escort. He felt nothing, saw nothing, thought of nothing, for a long while. Just as he reached that turn of the wady whence the town is first seen, the sun glanced out behind him. Himself in deep shadow, he beheld all the opposite slope, dwarf town, giant ruins, a few poor fruit trees, bathed of a sudden in a rich glow, like nothing earthly, beneath a sky grape blue and full of stars. He drew rein, gaping at the vision. There were the peasants going to their tillage among the rocks; there were the veiled ones tripping down to the spring, each with arms upcurved to sustain the pitcher upon her head. In that ruddy glow they flitted as thin shades. He could realize nothing, remember nothing. The place seemed foreign to him. But presently a horseman galloped forth from the town, and rode straight toward him, clattering upon the rocks. Shems-ud-dìn heard his shout. It was the voice of Hassan, crying: “Hail to the bridegroom!” Then Shems-ud-dìn blushed hot for joy. Even now the bride prepared herself. It was his wedding morn. CHAPTER I Many years had passed since that day-spring. Shems-ud-dìn sat in his shop in the small bazaar, a great sorrow at his heart. His wife had died long ago; his son, lured by promises from the exalted Milhem, had gone forth to try his fortune in the government service; and now it had pleased God to smite the last remaining of his dear ones. Alia, little Alia, whom he cherished as his own eyes, lay sick of a wasting illness none could name. Every homely charm and nostrum had been applied in vain. A famous leech from distant Damashc-esh-Shâm had bled her copiously, and stayed ten days in the house, expecting some good result. At last, seeing her life still waned, he had taken Shems-ud-dìn aside and spoken gravely. “O Sheykh, this is from the hand of Allah. All my science is as air against it. The stalk is cut, the ear will fall. It is decreed. Grieve not overmuch, I entreat thee. Rather thank Allah that it is not thy son, but only a girl from whom no honor comes.” Shems-ud-dìn duly thanked Allah, but cast about in his mind for some remedy yet to try. He was come to his shop at this idle hour of noon on purpose to think undisturbed. But the halls of his understanding were darkened and unfamiliar; even the lamp of faith burned dimly, a great way off. Though he prayed, “In mercy heal her! O Allah, spare the sunshine of my age!” he knew the worthlessness of such prayer. His will was not lost in the Divine Will, but beat against it to its own hurt, a moth at the flame.