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Page 109
Tears and laughter, the moon and the stars, the mystery of the Sphinx
and the desert at dawn, at noon, at night, bound them both to her heart
with golden chains of a surpassing love.
She had said no word of what she had suffered in all these years he had
been gone from her; she could not have told you, an' she would, of her
joy at the thought of his home-coming at last.
And she lifted up her hands and cried aloud:
"He is my son! He is my son!"
Then turned and walked slowly to the tent.
She made no sound, she gave no cry, she just stretched wide her arms in
stricken motherhood, as the great dogs sat immovable at their master's
head, like images of grief carved out of stone.
The cloak slid from her shoulders and fell about her feet, as she
crossed to the foot of the couch with out-stretched arms, where she
stood, such a slender and beautiful mother, looking down; and her
silken veils filled the air with a gentle whispering as she moved to
his head--such a desolate mother,--looking down at the little crimson
mark which showed like a rose above the heart.
"Hugh!" She whispered, as she touched the long lashes which hid the
eyes which had always been so full of tender love for her. "My son!"
she whispered as she stroked his cheek and, with slender fingers and a
little smile, tucked back the stray lock of brown hair which never
would stay under the turban.
She patted his chest and arranged the full skirt of his satin coat into
folds, and stroked his hand as mothers do; and she knelt at his knees
and laid her cheek against his boots, and smiled a little, nodding her
head, just to let him know how wonderful she thought him.
She did not know she was doing it; she did not fully understand--how
could she?--she was just holding back the door which was closing.
She lifted the amulet in the form of a scarab, of which the base was in
the shape of a heart, and which just touched the mark that looked like
a crimson rose.
She was not very good at reading inscriptions, but she always tried her
best, because it pleased him and made him laugh--so lovingly--at her
funny little accent. And to please him now she tried; she did not know
she was doing it, but there was not much more than a crack left open
through which she could see.
"_My Heart, my mother; my heart, my mother; my heart whereby I came
into being_."
And if great tears dropped upon his heart as she slowly read "the words
of power," they surely made a very fitting insignia with which to enter
into the presence of Allah, who is God.
She kissed his hands, and kissed the closed eyes, and tender mouth
which smiled as he slept.
She moved round the tent, pulling the curtains straight, having
promised faithfully to carry out his wishes--ah! how she had smiled
when she had given that promise; love of his wife and his children, she
had thought, would soon oust the idea of death from his mind--and
looked up at the lamp, to see if it was well filled with oil, and
gently took down the spear from the wall, whilst the great dogs sat
immovable as images of grief carved out of stone.
And she laid her hand upon their heads and, taking the corner of her
veil, wiped the sand from their jaws; but they growled softly--not
angrily--just to let her know that no hand but that of their master
must touch them.
She went to the entrance and called them, but they growled, just to let
her know that they would answer no voice but that of their master, and
that for the sound of that beloved voice they would wait for eternity.
Of course she did not quite understand them--how could she--not knowing
that the love of a dog surpasses that of a friend, and equals that of a
mother?--so she lifted the chequered curtains at the back just to let
them know that there was a way out, and looked down at the footprints
of small feet and of heavy feet, and across to the lifted flap through
which she could see the day dawning.
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