This time she was awake and softly humming the air of "The
sands of Time are sinking."

Lifting the hanging a few inches at the bottom he thrust the clothes
underneath, and called:

"Do you feel well enough to get up, Rose? If you do, I will make
coffee, and we will have a meal!"

"Thank you, thank you, good George!" she cried, with the _naivete_ of
an innocent child. "I will dress and come out, for oh, I am so hungry
and thirsty!"

He smiled to himself at her sweet child-likeness, and hurried away to
make the coffee.

Whether the aroma of the coffee reached her senses and hurried her, it
would be impossible to say, but certainly, in an incredibly short space
of time (for a woman) she drew aside the hanging a little, and asked:

"May I come, please?"

He flung aside the hanging, his smile, as well as his voice saying:
"Come!"

Then as she appeared before him, bright, fresh from her sound restful
sleep, her hair carefully groomed and coiled in a crown on her head,
her cheek glowing with the prettiest, tenderest blushes, he thought how
beautiful she was!

A woman, evidently in years, (as she would be judged _in the east_) yet
a pure child in character and manner.

"How do you feel, little Rose?" he asked, taking her hand in greeting.

"A little stiff," she answered, "but that is more from the bruises than
ought else, I think, for--"

Her cheeks warmer to a deeper tint, as she said:

"I have a dozen or more bruises!"

"Let us sit down," he laughed, "and we can do two things at once, eat
and talk."

Half an hour passed; they ate and drank, and grew almost merry as they
exchanged a few notes. When, however, in response to her question:

"But you are English, George?" he replied.

"Yes! Though as I speak Syrian perfectly, and Hebrew fairly, it seems
better for me not to appear to be English, hence my Syrian costume. I
feel I can trust you, Rose, my new little friend, so I do not mind
telling you that I belong to a great English newspaper, and as many of
those _now_ in authority are opposed to our paper, I am passing as a
Syrian, that I may better get my reports, for our paper, through to
England."

She had started when he began to speak of his connection with a great
English Newspaper. Now she interrupted him, saying, in a cautious
whisper:

"Are you Mr. Ralph Bastin?"

It was his turn to start now, and in amaze, he cried:

"No, I am not Ralph Bastin, but I _am_ his representative. But----