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Soada's mother had had red-brown hair, and not black as becomes a fellah woman; but Wassef was proud of this ancient heritage of red hair, which belonged to a field-marshal of Great Britain so he swore by the beard of the Prophet. That is why he had not beaten Soada these months past when she refused to answer him, when with cold stubbornness she gave him his meals or withheld them at her will.
When the time was up, and Mahommed Selim drew Soada's face to his breast, he knew that it was the last look and last embrace. "I am going back," he said; "my place is empty at Dongola." "No, no, thou shalt not go," she cried. "See how the little one loves thee," she urged, and, sobbing, she held the child up to him. But he spoke softly to her, and at last she said: "Kiss me, Mahommed Selim.
And Allah put a thorn into my heart, that a sharp pain went through my body and at last I fell." Soada's eyes were on him now with a strange, swimming brilliancy. "Mahommed Mahommed Selim, Allah touched thine eyes that thou didst see truly," she said eagerly. "Speak not till I have done," he answered. "When I waked again I was alone in the desert, no food, no water, and the dead camel beside me.
Was it not even said that Soada's mother was descended from an English slave with red hair, who in the terrible disaster at Damietta in 1805 had been carried away into captivity on the Nile, where he married a fellah woman and died a good Mussulman?
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