n Ma_sh_had was hard for the believers, with the
malevolent always on the alert; if they so much as suspected an
individual, they murdered him. There was no security of any kind, no
peace. But _Sh_amsu'd-Duha could not help herself: in spite of all the
terrible ordeals she had endured, she ignored the danger, and was capable
of flinging herself into flames, or into the sea. Since her brother
frequented no one, he knew nothing of what was going on. Day and night he
would only leave the house for the Shrine, the Shrine for the house; he
was a recluse, had no friends, and would not so much as speak to another
person. Nevertheless there came a day when he saw that trouble had broken
out in the city, and he knew it would end in serious harm. He was a man so
calm and silent that he did not reproach his sister; he simply took her
away from Ma_sh_had without warning, and they returned to Isfahan. Here,
he sent her to her daughter, the widow of the King of Martyrs, for he
would no longer shelter her under his roof.

_Sh_amsu'd-Duha was thus back in Isfahan, boldly teaching the Faith and
spreading abroad the sweet savors of God. So vehement was the fiery love
in her heart that it compelled her to speak out, whenever she found a
listening ear. And when it was observed that once again the household of
the King of Martyrs was about to be overtaken by calamities, and that they
were enduring severe afflictions there in Isfahan, Baha'u'llah desired
them to come to the Most Great Prison. _Sh_amsu'd-Duha, with the widow of
the King of Martyrs and the children, arrived in the Holy Land. Here they
were joyously spending their days when the son of the King of Martyrs,
Mirza 'Abdu'l-Husayn, as a result of the awful suffering he had been
subjected to in Isfahan, came down with tuberculosis and died in Akka.

_Sh_amsu'd-Duha was heavy of heart. She mourned his absence, she wasted
away with longing for him, and it was all much harder because then the
Supreme Affliction came upon us, the crowning anguish. The basis of her
life was undermined; candle-like, she was consumed with grieving. She grew
so feeble that she took to her bed, unable to move. Still, she did not
rest, nor keep silent for a moment. She would tell of days long gone, of
things that had come to pass in the Cause, or she would recite from Holy
Writ, or she would supplicate, and chant her prayers--until, out of the
Most Great Prison, she soared away to the world of God. She hastened