Night spread its canopy over the quarters of the city; every murmur fell still, and weary souls took to their beds, fleeing the toil of the day and the clamor of life.
In that awesome stillness Layla heard the rustle of garments brushing the door of her room, and she knew that her sister was waiting for her and that the hour had come to depart for the appointed place. So she slipped from her bed lightly and warily, while her husband was sunk in a sea of alluring dreams, murmuring words from which she understood that he was communing with the phantom of her friend Maliha—Maliha, the neighbors' daughter, who had bewitched him with her coquetry and her beauty and turned her life into a hell, after the two of them had lived in comfort and peace.
These words were an arrow aimed at Layla's heart which she could not pull out; she held her breath and swallowed her grief, for fear Husni might hear her sighing and wake. She walked toward the door, turning back to cast at her young husband a glance full of reproach, love, and sorrow. And when she had gone out she began to address him through the keyhole, saying: Farewell, Husni. I would not leave your side at such an hour, were it not that a voice whose source I do not know bids me go where I am going; and this may be the will of the fates, in whose unknown secrets a man loses his way, standing before them as the blind man stands before the seeing. You accused me of backwardness, ascribed ignorance
and rigidity to me, and found fault with my piety and my devotion, and with my being far from the spirit of the age—since I will not dance with your friends nor attend their gatherings, and I shrink from walking with you bareheaded and bare-armed, and other such manifestations of a corrupt civilization—all of which you took as a pretext to be rid of me and an excuse to marry Maliha. But the days will never run smooth for you two so long as I am the one who holds the right to your love. And here I am, departing from you to seek the remedy the women prescribed for me, that with it I may mend what has gone wrong in you; and I shall make you drink its cup to the brim, however bitter it may be.
Her soul would have been lost in the dread of parting and the flood of sorrow, had not her sister tugged at her dress; and the two left the house, making for one of the neighboring villages where the famous fortune-teller Umm Shahin lived—she who mocks the minds of women, selling them drugs, talismans, and amulets as the best of medicines and the best of charms to cure their ailments and their souls. They set out on their way, seeing only thousands of suns and bewildered stars, and beholding only the specters of the trees and the shadows of the thickets spread along the sides of the road.
Scarcely had the dawn smiled with its radiant mouth when they crossed the bounds of the city, and there appeared to them in the distance a figure leading two mounts. They made it out, and
behold, it was Masrur, Layla's servant, waiting for them; and when he drew near they rejoiced over him. Layla asked him: Has Husni learned of your coming? He answered: How could he, when I swore to you to keep this secret? Layla smiled and patted his shoulder; then the two turned their mounts toward the intended place, with Masrur in their train. But when its landmarks came into view they did not recognize them, and they began casting their eyes about its buildings, searching for the fortune-teller's hut, and found no trace of it; wonder took hold of them, and many misgivings beset them. And while they were pondering and reckoning, one of the doors opened upon a man short of stature and heavy of body, his frame hidden in a flowing black robe, who advanced toward them muttering: "Prey that fate has driven my way"... When he drew near them they felt a stir of fear, and he said: What has brought you two to this land? We said: Nothing—we have lost our way; we are bound for a certain monastery to fulfill our vow. He laughed a wicked laugh and said: I am the master of the monastery and lord of these lands, and I have such goods of religion and of this world as make vows needless. At his words we shuddered like a slaughtered victim, and we understood what he wanted, and we turned to call on Masrur for help—and behold, he had abandoned them and taken flight. The blood froze in her veins, and we feared what the matter would come to. Layla said in a faint voice and with a broken heart: Do you not see, Fatima, that this is a contrived plot? And scarcely had she finished her words when she sank down onto a rock behind her, faltering, crushed in spirit. As for Fatima, she braced herself and walked toward the man with a steady heart, and began to appeal to his mercy with fine words and with the tenderness and gentleness that were her nature, saying: