e Great
Hand guides us. They had not a dogma in common, these fellows in
misfortune; but they held the intimate, deep-lying spirit, the calm,
essential fatalism which is the world-old framework of religion, with
fresh crops of dogmas growing like ephemeral lichens upon its granite
surface.

"You poor things!" she said. "I can see that you have had a much worse
time than I have. No, really, John, dear, I am quite well--not even
very thirsty, for our party filled their water-skins at the Nile, and
they let me have as much as I wanted. But I don't see Mr. Headingly and
Mr. Brown. And poor Mr. Stuart--what a state he has been reduced to!"

"Headingly and Brown are out of their troubles," her husband answered.
"You don't know how often I have thanked God to-day, Norah, that you
were not with us. And here you are, after all."

"Where should I be but by my husband's side? I had much, _much_ rather
be here than safe at Halfa."

"Has any news gone to the town?" asked the Colonel.

"One boat escaped. Mrs. Shlesinger and her child and maid were in it.
I was downstairs in my cabin when the Arabs rushed on to the vessel.
Those on deck had time to escape, for the boat was alongside. I don't
know whether any of them were hit. The Arabs fired at them for some
time."

"Did they?" cried Belmont exultantly, his responsive Irish nature
catching the sunshine in an instant. "Then, be Jove, we'll do them yet,
for the garrison must have heard the firing. What d'ye think, Cochrane?
They must be full cry upon our scent this four hours. Any minute we
might see the white puggaree of a British officer coming over that
rise."

But disappointment had left the Colonel cold and sceptical.

"They need not come at all unless they come strong," said he.
"These fellows are picked men with good leaders, and on their own ground
they will take a lot of beating." Suddenly he paused and looked at the
Arabs. "By George!" said he, "that's a sight worth seeing!"

The great red sun was down with half its disc slipped behind the violet
bank upon the horizon. It was the hour of Arab prayer. An older and
more learned civilisation would have turned to that magnificent thing
upon the skyline and adored _that_. But these wild children of the
desert were nobler in essentials than the polished Persian. To them the
ideal was higher than the material, and it was with their backs to the
sun and their faces to the central shrine of their religion