eant Shekure’s previous

home；　and　knew　at　once　that　this　would　singe　Black’s　heart；　I　opened　a　door

of hope for him by tacking the word “probably” onto the end of my

statement。

“Have　you　seen　her　newly　returned　husband？”　he　asked　me；　looking　deep

into　my　eyes。

“I　haven’t　seen　him；　neither　did　I　see　Shekure’s　flight　from　the　house。”

“How　did　you　know　they’d　left？”

“From　your　face。”

“Tell　me　everything；”　he　said　decisively。

Black　was　so　troubled　he　didn’t　understand　that　Esther—her　eye　eternally

at　the　window；　her　ear　eternally　to　the　ground—could　never　“tell　everything”

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if　she　wanted　to　continue　to　be　the　Esther　who　found　husbands　for　so　many

dreamy　maidens　and　knocked　on　the　doors　of　so　many　unhappy　homes。

“What　I’ve　heard；”　I　said；　“is　that　the　brother　of　Shekure’s　former　husband；

Hasan； visited your house”—it heartened him when I said “your house”—

“and told Shevket that his father was on his way home from war； that he

would arrive around midafternoon； and that if he didn’t find Shevket’s

mother and brother in their rightful home； he’d be very upset。 Shevket told

this to his mother； who acted cautiously； but couldn’t e to a decision。

Toward　midafternoon；　Shevket　left　the　house　to　be　with　his　Uncle　Hasan　and

his　grandfather。”

“Where　did　you