Whether she knew what work was afoot, and, if she knew it, by what channel of soul or sense she learnt it, no man can say.

That she was conscious of the presence of many strangers is certain, and when the men from the Kasbah brought the roll of white linen down the stairway, with the two black women clinging to it, kissing its fringe and wailing over it, she broke away from Israel and rushed in among them with a startled cry, and her little white arms upraised.

But whatever her impulse, there was no need to check her.

The moment she had touched her mother she crept back in dread to her father's side.
"God be gracious to my father, look at that," whispered Fatimah.
"My child, my poor child," said Israel, "is there but one thing in life that speaks to you?
And is that death?
Oh, little one, little one!" It was a strange procession which then passed out of the patio.

Four of the prisoners carried the coffin on their shoulders, walking in pairs according to their fetters.