a rule he slept
without moving the long night through.

Conscious of feeling deliciously sleepy and totally indifferent to
anything but his own comfort, he soon fell asleep again. In his dreams
he heard again the liquid sound of bells--mule bells and camel
bells--growing fainter and fainter as the animals travelled into the
distance.

* * * * * *

In the morning, when he awoke, it was with a new lightness of spirit
and refreshed vitality. A sense of freedom exalted him, a subconscious
freedom, which had been absent for some days. The glory of the desert
called to him. He felt spiritually and physically vitalized.

Even the recollection of the nature of the saint's illness did not damp
his spirits. He would recover with careful nursing, and when he was
better they would go on their way rejoicing. The Promised Land seemed
nearer.

It was scarcely time for his early cup of tea, yet he saw Abdul
bringing it. Perhaps the joy of life had waked him, too, perhaps he
also was eager to get up and greet the morn. What a wonderful morning
it was! All pure, cool, clear sunlight. Michael's heart, a throbbing
organ of praise, sent forth a paean to the pagan skies.

"Is the Effendi awake? May his servant enter?"

"Yes, Abdul, come in."

Abdul entered with the noiseless movements of his race. As he stood by
his master's bed, Michael saw that the unemotional native was
attempting to hide his anger. Something had greatly upset him.

"What is it, Abdul? Has anyone been unkind to the saint?"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, it is not that." Abdul spoke lengthily and in the
correct Arabic fashion. He must not approach the subject too quickly.

"Tell me," Michael said. "What troubles you, Abdul?"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, the honourable _Sitt_ has left you. She has
gone--there is no trace of her camp."

"What?" Michael jumped out of bed. "The _Sitt_ has gone? No sign of
her camp?"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, that is so. Your servant offers his apologies for
bringing you bad news."

To Abdul's eternal amazement, Michael burst into a roar of laughter,
hearty, unsuppressed enjoyment of a good joke.

"Gone?" he repeated. "The _Sitt_ has gone, made a moonlight flitting?
The little devil!"

Abdul's mystification was so complete that he could only salaam.

"The little coward!" Michael said. "The miserable little coward!"

He spoke so rapidly, and in English, that Abdul could not fully
understand.