conquer my regrets, though I was properly
obliged to Sidi M'godol for bringing me in safety to his long home. Just
before us a caravan from the South was pushing its way to the gates. The
ungainly camels, seeing a resting-place before them, had plucked up their
spirits and were shuffling along at a pace their drivers could hardly have
enforced on the previous day. We caught them up, and the leaders explained
that they were coming in from Tindouf in the Draa country, a place
unexplored as yet by Europeans. They had suffered badly from lack of water
on the way, and confirmed the news that the Bedouins had brought, of a
drought unparalleled in the memory of living man. Sociable fellows all,
full of contentment, pluck, and endurance, they lightened the last hour
upon a tedious road.

At length we reached the strip of herbage that divides the desert from the
town, a vegetable garden big enough to supply the needs of the Picture
City, and full of artichokes, asparagus, egg plants, sage, and thyme. The
patient labour of many generations had gone to reclaim this little patch
from the surrounding waste.

We passed the graveyard of the Protestants and Catholics, a retired place
that pleaded eloquently in its peacefulness for the last long rest that
awaits all mortal travellers. Much care had made it less a cemetery than a
garden, and it literally glowed and blazed with flowers--roses, geraniums,
verbena, and nasturtiums being most in evidence. A kindly priest of the
order of St. Francis invited us to rest, and enjoy the colour and
fragrance of his lovingly-tended oasis. And while we rested, he talked
briefly of his work in the town, and asked me of our journey. The place
reminded me strongly of a garden belonging to another Brotherhood of the
Roman Catholic Church, and set at Capernaum on the Sea of Galilee, where,
a few years ago, I saw the monks labouring among their flowers, with
results no less happy than I found here.

After a brief rest we rode along the beach towards the city gate. Just
outside, the camels had come to a halt and some town traders had gathered
round the Bedouins to inquire the price of the goods brought from the
interior, in anticipation of the morrow's market. Under the frowning
archway of the water-port, where True Believers of the official class sit
in receipt of custom, I felt the town's cobbled road under foot, and the
breath of the trade-winds blowing in from the Atlantic. Then I knew that
Sunset La