“But they are mad, all the same,” continued the palm.  “If they have not an angel to protect them, they should rather have let their enemies do their worst than have taken refuge in the desert.  I can imagine how it has all happened.  The man is at work, the child sleeps in its cradle, the woman has gone to fetch water.  When she has gone a few steps from the door she sees the enemy approaching.  She rushes in, seizes the child, calls to the husband that he shall follow her, and runs away.  Since then they have continued their flight the whole day; they have assuredly not rested a single moment.  Yes, so it has all happened; but I say all the same, if no angel protects them—­

“They are in such fear that they do not feel either fatigue or other sufferings, but I read thirst in their eyes.  I think I should know the face of a thirsty man.”

And when the palm began to think about thirst a fit of trembling went through its high stem, and the innumerable fronds of its long leaves curled up as if held over a fire.

“If I were a man,” it said, “I would never venture into the desert.  He is truly brave who ventures here without having roots reaching down to the inexhaustible water-veins.  There can be danger even for palms, even for such a palm as I. Could I advise them, I would beg them to return.  Their enemies could never be as cruel to them as the desert.  They think perhaps that it is easy to live in the desert.  But I know that even I at times have had difficulty in keeping alive.  I remember once in my youth when a whirlwind threw a whole mountain of sand over me I was nearly choking.  If I could die I should have died then.”

The palm continued to think aloud, as lonely old people do.

“I hear a wonderful melodious murmur passing through my crown,” it said; “all the fronds of my leaves must be moving.  I do not know why the sight of these poor strangers moves me so.  But this sorrowful woman is so beautiful!  It reminds me of the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me.”

And whilst its leaves continued their melodious rustle the palm remembered how once, long, long ago, a glorious human being had visited the oasis.  It was the Queen of Sheba, accompanied by the wise King Solomon.  The beautiful Queen was on her way back to her own country; the King had accompanied her part of the way, and now they were about to part.  “In memory of this moment,” said the Queen, “I now plant a date-kernel in the earth; and I ordain that from it shall grow a palm which shall live and grow until a King is born in Judaea greater than Solomon.”  And as she said this she placed the kernel in the ground, and her tears watered it.

“How can it be that I should just happen to think of this to-day?” said the palm.  “Can it be possible that this woman is so beautiful that she reminds me of the most beautiful of all queens, of her at whose bidding I have lived and grown to this very day?  I hear my leaves rustling stronger and stronger,” said the palm, “and it sounds sorrowful, like a death-song.  It is as if they prophesied that someone should soon pass away.  It is well to know that it is not meant for me, inasmuch that I cannot die.”