But in spite of this solemn assurance, and the hasty preparations which occupied the rest of the day, neither Mr Hicks nor Mansfield really believed in the expedition until they found themselves riding through the eastern gate of Damascus in the dawn of the following morning. To all appearance they were bound only on a short excursion. The sheikh had agreed to furnish water and desert fare for the travellers, and each man carried a bag of corn for his horse, together with an iron peg and a rope for tethering purposes. A pair of capacious saddlebags, containing the smallest possible allowance of additional raiment and toilet necessaries, and a large _abba_ or cloak of coarse cotton, rolled up tightly in front of the saddle, completed the equipment of each. To Mahmud Fadil alone among those in authority had the secret of their journey been confided, and his silence was secured in the only effectual way, by means of a present and a promise. The melancholy Paschics had been furnished with instructions in view of all the possible complications of political affairs that suggested themselves to Cyril’s mind, and placed in charge of two telegrams, one for the Chevalier Goldberg and one for Lord Caerleon, which were not to be despatched until the adventurers had fairly started. Mr Hicks had been permitted to send a communication to his paper, in which he dealt with the expedition in terms of such enticing obscurity and tantalising reticence as to suggest that the whole solution of the Palestine question hung on his being lost to sight in the Syrian desert for a fortnight or more. Mansfield’s personal preparations were not extensive, for he did little beyond writing a letter to Lord Caerleon, which was only to be posted in case he did not return from the journey. Outside the gate was the camping-ground of the caravans from Baghdad, with its hundreds of knee-haltered camels, and its bronzed Arabs bargaining and quarrelling in a hopeless _patois_ over the goods piled up round their rough tents. Then came the dismal ride through the native burying-ground, filled with the ruinous and half-open vaults of the Christians on the one hand and the fallen tombstones of the Jews on the other, and when this had been passed, the form of Yeshua could be distinguished, waiting faithfully under the walnut-trees overhanging the wall of the Protestant cemetery. After the usual salutations had been exchanged, Cyril rode ahead with the blind man, and Mr Hicks and Mansfield found themselves side by side. “What is it you’re afraid of?” asked Mansfield all at once, observing that his companion looked back apprehensively from time to time.