Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears, and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my chest. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not, or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp, and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires. One evening she spoke to me at last. When she addressed the first words to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She asked me was I going to Araby. I forget whether I answered yes or no. It would be a splendid bazaar, she said; she would love to go. "And why can't you go?" I asked. While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her convent. As she spoke she bowed her head towards me, and the light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her neck and lit up her hand upon the railing. "It's well for you," she said. "If I go," I said, "I will bring you something."