day into the quiet of night, she felt something of what women feel when their travail draws near.

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There she called to her those of the women of Banu Hashim who were present, and they hastened to her and passed with her a night unlike all nights, in which they wondered at everything and marveled at everything. They did not even know themselves, for they saw what no one had seen, heard what no one had heard, and felt what no one had felt. Nor was Amina the least of them in wonder, awe, and marveling; for she saw, waking and not sleeping, a light going forth from her that filled the earth around her and drew the veils from her eyes. She would look, and see the palaces of Bosra on the borders of Syria. She would look, and see the necks of camels loping in the farthest desert. And she did not tell those around her what she saw, for fear they would disbelieve what she said and think ill thoughts of her. And one of her companions could not turn her gaze upon anything but she saw it all light, with no darkness in it — radiant and luminous, or rather pure radiance itself. And another of her companions would look, and behold, the stars of the sky drawing near the earth, sending toward her rays strong, pure, dazzling, enchanting — drawing nearer and nearer, until it seemed to the one who beheld them that they were about to touch her and fall upon her.

And another of her companions saw a gloomy, pitch-dark black-ness, and a strong, wracking trem-bling seized her, and something came over her like sleep, during which she heard an awesome, dread voice asking: Where have you taken him? And an awesome, dread voice answering it: To the East. Then it cleared from her, and she came to herself. Then what she had been in returned upon her: again the pitch-dark black-ness, again the strong, wracking trembling, again a swoon covering her like sleep; and again she heard the awesome, dread voice asking: Where have you taken him? And an awesome, dread voice answering it: To the West. Then what she was in cleared from her, and she came to herself.

So it was that heaven never drew as near to earth as it drew on that night. So it was that men

never saw such wonders as those women saw on that night. And through all this Amina felt no pain, little or much; every veil was lifted from her, every covering was raised from her, and she was left alone with a world of beauty that is seen and of beauty that is heard, the like of which mankind had never known. Then she saw — and her companions saw — as though a shooting star went forth from her and filled the earth around her with a light that dazzled the eyes; then she looked, and behold, her son had touched the earth, bracing himself upon his hands, lifting his head toward heaven, fixing his gaze upon it as though he sought something there. Then her companions hastened to him and to her, to render to her what a mother needs when she gives life, and to him what a son needs when he receives life — and behold, she needed nothing, and behold, he needed nothing; and behold, they took up the most beautiful of boys, the most splendid of boys, the most perfect of boys; and their hearts were filled with the knowledge that the earth had received a newborn unlike all children.

Then the dawn breaks, and the sun spreads its pure mantle over the hollow of Mecca and the mountains that surround it. The forenoon rises, and people busy themselves with their affairs, having passed a night ignorant and heedless, in which they felt nothing, as though nothing had happened in it. Had the covering been lifted from them, had the veils been removed from their hearts, they would have seen and heard. But God has appointed for everything a measure: He shows His signs to whom He wills,

and hides His signs from whom He wills. And Abd al-Muttalib is sitting in the Hijr, his sons around him and a company of Quraysh, taken up with their accustomed talk. He listens to them with his ears while his soul turns away from them, thinking of his lost one whom he cannot forget. And while he is thus, behold, the bearer of glad tidings comes hurrying toward him, and when he reaches him he greets him and says: A boy has been born to you — rise, then, and look upon him! No sooner does he hear this good news than he feels that God has given him recompense for his lost one, has dealt gently with him in his affliction, and has laid up for him a consolation for his trial. He asks: Is it the son of Abdullah? The bearer of tidings answers him: Yes. He rises in haste, and his sons rise with him, and they go, turning aside for nothing, until they reach Amina's house. And when the old man enters and sees the boy, he feels as though God has sent down tranquility upon his heart, has cleared the sorrow from his heart, and has restored him to a gladness and joy from which he had long been estranged.

Then he hears the women's tale and finds nothing in it to disbelieve, as though he had been expecting it, as though he had a tryst appointed with it. Then the boy is lifted up to him, and he kisses him and says: I shall surely name him Muhammad. Amina said: One came to me in my sleep and bade me name him Ahmad. Said Abd al-Muttalib: Then he is Muhammad, and he is Ahmad — and I can only think that these are but some of his names.