Anne Whiteside was sitting in her own room, absorbed in thought, whilst near by, in his little white bed, lay her sleeping boy. Raie’s words had sunk deep into her mind—so deep that she could think of nothing else. Had she been told of such a cave in England she would probably have considered it unworthy her attention, but here in Palestine the conditions were entirely of another kind. She remembered the story of the pool of Bethesda, where the great multitude of impotent folk waited for the moving of the water; and to her it seemed quite as likely for a miracle to happen in a cave as in a pool. Moreover, the very soil of Palestine was sacred, and more associated with divine interposition than any country in the world, so that it seemed to lend itself to the miraculous as a matter of course. “With God all things are possible,” she said to herself. “The arm of the Lord is not shortened.” The physicians were unable to cure the lad, and had pronounced his case hopeless; but surely no case was beyond the power of the Great Physician? She was determined to have faith. The boy awoke, and blinking sleepily at the light, glanced at his grandmother, but no ray of intelligence crossed his face. He knew her, of course—he would take his food at the hands of no one else; but he showed no sign of recognition, and gazed vacantly into space. Anne moved the lamp in order to prevent the glare from hurting his eyes, then fetched him a glass of fresh cocoanut milk. He drank it greedily, and asked for more, but the old nurse thought he had had sufficient, and coaxed him to try and sleep. Sitting by the bed, she sang a crooning little melody, such as might be used to lull a baby in a cradle, whilst her fingers busily plied a pair of woollen socks. There was no sound to break the stillness but that of her own voice, yet she was quite oblivious of the gentle lifting of the latch. A sudden shadow on the opposite wall, however, caused her to look up suddenly, and without any sense of surprise she discovered a swarthy Arab at her side. “Mustaph!” she exclaimed, putting down her needles in haste. “You have come from the Princess? What does her Highness say?” For answer he produced a note from the folds of his inner garment and handed it with a bow. The nurse took it with trembling fingers and broke the seal. Then she adjusted her spectacles and turned towards the light. Mustaph complacently squatted on the floor. “_I think your project considerably fraught with risk both to the boy and yourself_,” it ran; “_but if you are determined to venture, I will not deter you. To-morrow will be a good opportunity on account of the full moon, and my carriage will be at your disposal. Be ready an hour and a half before sunset, when one of my servants shall call. Please inform Mustaph if this arrangement is satisfactory, or if you have changed your mind. Personally, I should advise you to leave well alone rather than be guided by a Mohammedan superstition._