rrowed her, it was arranged
that she should go too, and Harry was perfectly reconciled. The
hygeen's motions were wonderfully smooth for a camel, and the journey
was made easy to him; but still it was trying in his weak state and
after so long a confinement.

But it did not last long, and then they reached a town of flat-roofed
houses, and entered a spacious courtyard with a portico round it,
through which were the living-rooms. There were soldiers here and there
under this portico, some of them wearing the turban, but the majority
having a skull-cap of blue and white on their heads, and a sentry over
the gate had one of them too. Those who wore the bernouse, and most of
them did, had similar blue and white patches sewn on different parts of
it. These were the Mahdi's colours; I don't know why, for he was never
a Third Trinity man, and had no right to their blazer. Like his
impudence! It is true that the colours were generally in dice, not
regularly striped. Some of the soldiers did not show the colours, but
that was because they had nothing to put them on unless they painted
their bodies. Passing through a large room with a divan round it, and
pushing aside a curtain at the farther end, you came upon another and
smaller court, which was a garden with a fountain in the middle, well
filled with date and other palms. There was a portico round this too,
and this was destined to be the place where Harry Forsyth was to pass
the greater part of his life for some time, for it was the dwelling or
private part of his uncle's establishment.

Crazy renegade as he was, the Sheikh Burrachee had some old ideas of
comfort which the wild life he had led had not dissipated, and being a
rich man for the country where he was and the people he had adopted, he
could indulge any little fancies he had; and he had made his house both
handsome and comfortable.

According to the simple ideas of the natives, indeed, he was possessed
of enormous wealth, and this reputation went some way towards the
superstitious regard in which he was held. This was the place which
Harry now entered, and reposing on a divan, low, with soft cushions on
it, and close to the portico, he looked upon the green leaves and
listened to the trickle of the fountain, while Fatima brought him a
glass of delicious lemonade, squeezed from the fresh-plucked fruit; and
the fatigues of the journey were forgotten, and he fell into a long and
refreshing sleep. His curi