self! As for Hanneh, she knew she was lying to them; but she believed herself.

A year and part of a year passed without Hanneh receiving a letter from Makhoul. Not that he had arrived, not that he had seen his father — nothing at all. The village folk had almost forgotten Makhoul as they had forgotten Boutros before him, and it settled in their minds that Hanneh would die — if not of grief, then of hunger. Then one day a piece of news spread through the village, and the jars stood still at the spring, and the hoes in the field, and the mouths passed it on:

— Makhoul, son of Boutros Hammam, has come back. Makhoul, son of Boutros Hammam, has come back from Brazil laden with gold.

Hanneh's astonishment at her son's coming home rich was no less than the astonishment of the others. But the bursting of this spite in the eyes of the village folk filled her head and her heart and her soul all together with an intoxication beyond all intoxi-cation. She set about receiving the deputations of well-wishers, who looked now at her and now at Makhoul, not believing what their eyes saw and their ears heard. She opened boxes of sweets and offered them round, as though thrusting them into their noses — they knowing her stinginess — and slipped sweets into their pockets, and bade welcome to the great among them and the small, wiping away tears of joy and repeating: "May Boutros bury me, God willing!" And she would stare at Makhoul and croon over him and press him to her breast, while he bore with her against his will, feigning pleasure and smiles. Then he would go back to his frowning and his silence, scarcely answering the questions raining down on him about his father and about this man and that man and the other — and they could find no reason for all this, after his assuring them that his father was in the best of health and would return very soon. But Hanneh found his excuse for him in the

weariness of the sea, and they rose and asked leave to go.

In the morning Hanneh awoke with her heart laughing. But how great was her amazement when she looked at her son's bed and found it empty. She called through the house, and no one answered her. Makhoul was not in the house, nor behind the house,

nor on the roof. Perhaps he had gone in at the neighbors', or gone off to the spring. The mother set out through the village, asking and calling. And faster than the blink of an eye the news spread that Makhoul had disappeared. The tales explaining his disap-pearance went every which way. All her day long Hanneh went

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