Zulma knew the road towards the cross better than the Lady of Lichtenried had expected from such a new convert. She stepped so hastily through the darkness, that Bertha was scarcely able to keep pace with her, admiring all the while the zeal that she displayed for the soul’s weal of the unfortunate Moor. Over hills covered with brush-wood, and through pathless valleys, they pursued their way; and when Bertha inquired why they had come through such lonely places, the answer was,--“Because that was the straightest road. And this you may trust to a native African; for among our sandy deserts, where a well-beaten track may in a moment be effaced by a gust of wind, we learn to find our way by other means.”--So indeed it happened, that as often as a gleam of lightning revealed a rocky cliff, a cottage, or a large tree, Zulma seemed to move on with new confidence; but ere long Bertha perceived that she had more certain means of guiding her course through the darkness. She began at intervals to utter a hateful shrilling sound, like the blending of a whistle and a scream, and she was answered by a voice like her own, that seemed to determine her progress. At this Bertha many times started; and Zulma, observing her fears, said,--“Truly such notes are unpleasant; but, nevertheless, they serve to guide us on our way to the suffering man. It is well that he has learned this Moorish art of making signals, although he belongs not to our tribe of black-visaged Africans, but is rather a comely young Arabian.” As she thus spoke, a sudden flash of lightning broke forth over the cross, to which they were now drawing very near; and at the same moment they could perceive a man in a Moorish dress, who was endeavouring to raise himself from the ground, by leaning on its rocky pedestal. Bertha immediately hastened up to him.--“Thank Heaven!” cried she, “that we find you still alive. I am Bertha von Lichtenried, whom you have so earnestly desired to see, and I come to offer you the consolations of our holy church.”