The only time I ever felt lonely was during
the long winter nights when Richard was away. In the summer I did not
feel lonely, because I could always go and smoke a narghileh with the
women at the water-side in a neighbour's garden. But in the winter it
was not possible to do this. So I used to occupy myself with music or
literature, or with writing these rough notes, which I or some one else
will put together some day. But more often than not I sat and listened
to the stillness, broken ever and anon by weird sounds outside.
So passed our life at Damascus.
NOTES:
1. Miss Stisted speaks of her as "Jane Digby, who capped her wild
career by marrying a camel-driver," and animadverts on Lady Burton
for befriending her. The Shaykh was never a camel-driver in his
life, and few, I think, will blame Lady Burton for her kindness
to this poor lady, her countrywoman, in a strange land.
CHAPTER XIII. THROUGH THE DESERT TO PALMYRA. (1870).
Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning
upon her beloved?
_The Song of Solomon_.
The oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
MILTON.
Richard had wished ever since he came to Damascus to visit Palmyra, or
Tadmor, in the wilderness. It is about one hundred and fifty miles
distant in the open desert.
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