The beauty of the scene touched the girl.  In a low, clear voice, spontaneous as the song of a bird, she sang:  “For the Lord shall comfort Zion; he will comfort her waste places:  and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving and the voice of melody.”

The song brought comfort to her; for was she not soon to leave this fairy spot, this Aidenn, to return to the land of the Mussulman; not the land of—­

    “Deep myrrh thickets blowing round
    The stately cedar, tamarisks. 
    Thick rosaries of scented thorn,
    Tall Orient shrubs, and obelisks
    Graven with emblems of the time,”

but to the bleak, treeless plains of Nejd, breezy with the warm breath of desert-swept winds, bounded by rolling mountains, and dotted by the black tents of those roving hordes of whom it has been said that “their hand is against every man, and every man’s hand is against them,”—­the fierce, cruel yet generous, impulsive, courteous tribes of the desert.

For Manasseh and Kedar were both going back to the desert tribes, braving the dangers of persecution, that they might exert an influence in christianizing the Bedouin tribes over whom the Moslems as yet had little power.  Sherah was going back as Manasseh’s wife, and this was her wedding-day.  She was willing to go, yet she could not help feeling a little lonely on this last morning in her mother’s home.

Presently the call “Sherah!  Sherah!” came through the olive groves, and the old nurse hobbled out.  The woman was a thorough type of an aged Arab, lean, wrinkled, hook-nosed, with skin like shrunken leather, and a voice like a raven.  Yet Sherah knew her goodness of heart, and loved her dearly.  She was taking the old woman back with her, for, oddly enough, Zama had never felt at home in the new land, and often craved that her bones might be buried in the old soil.

“Why disturb me, Zama?” said the young woman kindly.  “See you not that I am bidding farewell to this dear valley?”

“Aye, aye, child,” muttered the old nurse, “but we must put the wedding-gown upon you, and twine jasmine in your hair.”  She stroked the glossy masses fondly.  “Ah, to-morrow it must be braided in the plaits of the matron, and the coins will be placed about my precious one’s neck; yet it seems only yesterday that she was a toddling baby at my feet.”

The two women, the one tall and lithe as a willow, the other bent and shrunken, took their way to the house.  Mary was already there, and assisted in adorning the bride.

The guests arrived, and the simple ceremony was soon over; then the company sat down to the wedding feast.  Lois and her sister talked in low tones to the mother of Sherah, who grieved a little at the separation from her daughter.  Happy jests and laughter passed about among the young people.  Amzi went, with beaming face, from group to group; and Yusuf looked quietly on.