In his uncivilised
soul Mahommed Hassan felt this murmur, and even as he sat waiting to know
whether a little army would steal out of the south like phantoms into
this circle the Saadat had drawn round him, he kept humming to
himself--had he not been, was he not now, an Apollo to numberless houris
who had looked down at him from behind mooshrabieh screens, or waited for
him in the palm-grove or the cane-field? The words of his song were not
uttered aloud, but yet he sang them silently--
"Every night long and all night my spirit is moaning and crying
O dear gazelle, that has taken away my peace!
Ah! if my beloved come not, my eyes will be blinded with weeping
Moon of my joy, come to me, hark to the call of my soul!"
Over and over he kept chanting the song. Suddenly, however, he leaned
farther forward and strained his ears. Yes, at last, away to the
south-east, there was life stirring, men moving--moving quickly. He got
to his feet slowly, still listening, stood for a moment motionless, then,
with a cry of satisfaction, dimly saw a moving mass in the white
moonlight far over by the river.
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