The woman passed close to us. She never looked in our direction, but in a very low voice she murmured, as she passed, 'Then you are English!' I had presence of mind enough to conceal my surprise at this unexpected utterance. 'Don't seem to notice her, Elsie,' I said, looking away. 'Yes, we are English.' She stopped and pretended to examine some jewellery on a stall. 'So am I,' she went on, in the same suppressed low voice. 'For Heaven's sake, help me!' 'What are you doing here?' 'I live here--married. I was with Gordon's force at Khartoum. They carried me off. A mere girl then. Now I am thirty.' 'And you have been here ever since?' She turned away and walked off, but kept whispering behind her veil. We followed, unobtrusively. 'Yes; I was sold to a man at Dongola. He passed me on again to the chief of this oasis. I don't know where it is; but I have been here ever since. I hate this life. Is there any chance of a rescue?' 'Anny chance of a rescue, is it?' the Doctor broke in, a trifle too ostensibly. 'If it costs us a whole British Army, me dear lady, we'll fetch you away and save you.' 'But now--to-day? You won't go away and leave me? You are the first Europeans I have seen since Khartoum fell. They may sell me again. You will not desert me?' 'No,' I said. 'We will not.' Then I reflected a moment. What on earth could we do? This was a painful dilemma. If we once lost sight of her, we might not see her again. Yet if we walked with her openly, and talked like friends, we would betray ourselves, and her, to those fanatical Senoosis. I made my mind up promptly. I may not have much of a mind; but, such as it is, I flatter myself I can make it up at a moment's notice. 'Can you come to us outside the gate at sunset?' I asked, as if speaking to Elsie. The woman hesitated. 'I think so.' 'Then keep us in sight all day, and when evening comes, stroll out behind us.' She turned over some embroidered slippers on a booth, and seemed to be inspecting them. 'But my children?' she murmured anxiously. The Doctor interposed. 'Is it childern she has?' he asked. 'Thin they'll be the Mohammedan gintleman's. We mustn't interfere wid _them_. We can take away the lady--she's English, and detained against her will: but we can't deprive anny man of his own childern'. I was firm, and categorical. 'Yes, we can,' I said, stoutly; 'if he has forced a woman to bear them to him whether she would or not. That's common justice. I have no respect for the Mohammedan gentleman's rights. Let her bring them with her. How many are there?' 'Two--a boy and girl; not very old; the eldest is seven.' She spoke wistfully. A mother is a mother. 'Then say no more now, but keep us always in sight, and we will keep _you_. Come to us at the gate about sundown. We will carry you off with us.'