“Nay, my lord, the Beni Ismail will not show themselves until they are satisfied that the _khawajas_ are their friends.” He raised his voice in a shrill cry, and presently a head appeared, peeping suspiciously round a rock at some distance. Informed of this, Yeshua repeated his call, and presently three Arabs made their appearance from different directions, each man leading his horse. The blind man went forward to meet them, and an animated colloquy ensued, out of earshot of the travellers. “I don’t quite like the look of this,” said Cyril. “Is our blind friend stipulating for his share of the spoils?” “Oh no, Count,” said Mansfield; “he’s trying to get them to swear not to hurt us. He told me he would. The poor beggar has cottoned to me rather,” he added shamefacedly. “Yesterday I went to see the mission with which he is connected, and the ladies told him, and he was awfully pleased.” “Well, don’t be ashamed of your good deeds,” said Cyril. “We shall both be grateful for them when they have saved all our lives.” Presently, with a beaming face, the blind man brought the sheikh forward, and having introduced him to Cyril, took his leave, whispering to Mansfield as he passed. “They will not hurt you, _Khawaja_. They have sworn it on the Holy Book.” He turned back in the direction of Damascus, and before disappearing among the sandhills, paused to hold up his book as a reminder to the Arabs. The sheikh, who had been scanning Cyril’s face with an interest which he tried in vain to dissemble, asked him through Mr Hicks whether he would prefer to rest for a while or to proceed at once, and on his choosing to push on, made a sign to his men, who mounted their horses, one of them riding ahead as a scout.