Ever and ever his eyes were on
David, and far back under the acacia-tree Achmet slept as he had not
slept since his doom fell on him.
At last Ebn Ezra Bey also slept; but David was awake with the night and
the benevolent moon and the marching stars. The spirit of the desert was
on him, filling him with its voiceless music. From the infinite stretches
of sand to the south came the irresistible call of life, as soft as the
leaves in a garden of roses, as deep as the sea. This world was still,
yet there seemed a low, delicate humming, as of multitudinous looms at a
distance so great that the ear but faintly caught it--the sound of the
weavers of life and destiny and eternal love, the hands of the toilers of
all the ages spinning and spinning on; and he was part of it, not abashed
or dismayed because he was but one of the illimitable throng.
The hours wore on, but still he sat there, peace in all his heart, energy
tingling softly through every vein, the wings of hope fluttering at his
ear.
At length the morning came, and, from the west, with the rising sun, came
a traveller swiftly, making for where he was.
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