n fondled, her indignation burst forth,
and she smote the first old woman who stretched out her rough
unsympathetic hand. But a shriek from her waiting-woman announced that
another victim was singled out; and the frantic mother rushed like a
tigress to defend the young that yet remained to her. But the enemy was
invisible; and (so the story goes) all her little ones drooped one by one
and died; so that on the seventh day Selima sat in her nursery gazing
about with stony eyes, and counting her losses upon her fingers--Iskender,
Selima, Wardy, Fadlallah, Hanna, Hennenah, Gereges--seven in all. Then she
remembered Halil, and her neglect of him; and, lifting up her voice, she
wept aloud; and, as the tears rushed fast and hot down her cheeks, her
heart yearned for her absent boy, and she would have parted with worlds to
have fallen upon his breast--would have given up her life in return for one
word of pardon and of love.

Fadlallah came in to her; and he was now very old and feeble. His back was
bent, and his transparent hand trembled as it clutched a cane. A white
beard surrounded a still whiter face; and as he came near his wife, he
held out his hand towards her with an uncertain gesture, as if the room
had been dark. This world appeared to him but dimly. "Selima," said he,
"the Giver hath taken. We, too, must go in our turn. Weep, my love, but
weep with moderation, for those little ones that have gone to sing in the
golden cages of Paradise. There is a heavier sorrow in my heart. Since my
first-born, Halil, departed for Bassora, I have only written once to learn
intelligence of him. He was then well, and had been received with favor by
his uncle. We have never done our duty by that boy." His wife replied, "Do
not reproach me; for I reproach myself more bitterly than thou canst do.
Write, then, to thy brother to obtain tidings of the beloved one. I will
make of this chamber a weeping chamber. It has resounded with merriment
enough. All my children learned to laugh and to talk here. I will hang it
with black, and erect a tomb in the midst; and every day I will come and
spend two hours, and weep for those who are gone and for him who is
absent." Fadlallah approved her design; and they made a weeping chamber,
and lamented together every day therein. But their letters to Bassora
remained unanswered; and they began to believe that fate had chosen a
solitary tomb for Halil.

One day a woman, dressed in the garb of the poor, cam