He spoke hurriedly, as if he would thrust his desire to comfort between her and the wave of disconsolation that he felt was about to cover her.

Old Momus, sensibly accepting the boy’s suggestion as the wisest course, raised Laodice and motioning the shepherd to lead on, led his young mistress up the hill as the boy retraced his steps.  The flood of Syrian sheep turned back with him and followed bleating between the urging of the sheep-dog, as the boy climbed.

On a slope to the west as a wady bent upon itself abruptly before it debouched upon the hillside, there was a deep glow illuminating a space in the depression.  The shepherd dropped down out of sight.  His voice came over the shuffle and bleat of the sheep.

“Follow me; this is my house.”

Momus led his mistress over to the wady.  There the shepherd with uplifted hands helped her down with the superior courtesy of a householder offering hospitality.  There was a red circle of fire in the sandy bottom of the dry wady, and beside it was a flat boulder at the foot of which were prints of the shepherd’s sandals and, on the bank behind it, the mark where his shoulders had comfortably rested.  He made no apology for the poverty of his entertainment; he had never known anything better.

“Now, brother,” he said busily to Momus, “if thou’lt lend me of thy height, thou shalt have of my agility and we will set up a douar for the lady.”

With frank composure he stripped off the burden of skins that covered him until he stood forth in a single hide of wool, with a tumble of sheep pelts at his feet.  In each one was a thorn preserved for use and with these he pinned them all together, scrambled out on the bank, emitting his startling cry at the sheep that obstructed his path.  From above he shouted down to Momus.

“Stretch it, brother, over thy head.  I shall pin it down with stones on either side.  Now, unless some jackal dislodges these weights before morning, ye will be safe covered from the cold.  There!  God never made a man till He prepared him a cave to sleep under!  I’ve never slept in the open, yet.  How is it with thee now, lady?”

He was down again before her with the red light of the great bed of coals illuminating him with a glow that was almost an expression of his charity.

She saw that he had the straight serious features of the Ishmaelite, but lacked the fierce yet wondering gaze of the Arab.  Aside from these superior indications in his face there was nothing to separate him from any other shepherd that ranged the mountainous pastures of Palestine.

She, who all her life had never known anything but to expect the tenderest of ministrations, was humbly surprised and grateful at the free-handed generosity of the young stranger.  Momus looked at him with grudging approval.

“It is kindly shelter,” she said finally with effort, “and it is warm.  You are very good to us!”