Yonder in the
Soudan more problems than one would be solved, more lives than one be put
to the extreme test. He did not answer Achmet's question yet. "Zaida--?"
he said in a low voice. The pathos of her doom had been a dark memory.
Achmet's voice dropped lower as he answered. "She lived till the day her
sister died. I never saw her face; but I was sent to bear each day to her
door the food she ate and a balass of water; and I did according to my
sentence. Yet I heard her voice. And once, at last, the day she died, she
spoke to me, and said from inside the hut: 'Thy work is done, Achmet. Go
in peace.' And that night she lay down on her sister's grave, and in the
morning she was found dead upon it."
David's eyes were blinded with tears. "It was too long," he said at last,
as though to himself.
"That day," continued Achmet, "there fell ill with leprosy the Christian
priest from this place who had served in that black service so long; and
then a fire leapt up in me. Zaida was gone--I had brought food and a
balass of water to her door those many times; there was naught to do,
since she was gone--"
Suddenly David took a step nearer to him and looked into the sullen and
drooping eyes.
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