"Not even when you promised to tell my fortune." "I can explain myself that way if you like. Your fortune is singularly like my own at the present moment. You are accompanying a crowd of people who don't know where they are going, or what they mean to do when they get there. I am quite sure the Baron is befogged, or, if that is not a happy expression in this wonderful atmosphere, shall I say lost? I don't speak Arabic, but I can read that man's face, and I watched him this morning when he was consulting our so-called guide. In plain English, Mr. Royson, we are drifting, in the vain hope that somewhere out there we shall find five hills in a clump. I don't object, in a sense. It is a very delightful picnic from one point of view. But I hate uncertainty, and I loathe deceit, and here we are at the mercy of both, while my grandfather is so taken up with the joy of arranging everything, which von Kerber very cleverly leaves to him, that he simply won't listen to me when I suggest the need of more definite information. And just think of it! Five Hills! With a rocky desert in front and five thousand hills to the left. What is to be the end of it all? Are we to go wandering on till we march into Suez, or Cairo?" "Our sheikh is a marvel at finding oases," said Dick. "I wonder if there is a string of them all the way between here and--" "Mr. Royson," broke in Irene, "you are the only person to whom I can confide my doubts and fears. They may be silly, but please don't adopt that tone. It--hurts." Royson, who had dismounted, slipped his Arab's bridle under an arm and strode a pace nearer. "Don't you see that we can do nothing at present?" he said earnestly. "I am alive to the difficulties which may beset us in the near future; but what would you have me do, Miss Fenshawe? If your grandfather were not of the party, I know exactly what I would propose--at least, I think I know." "And that is?" "That Stump and some of our men should escort you and Mrs. Haxton back to Pajura, and let our Austrian friend ride his hobby to death. And believe me, I am not consulting my own wishes in saying that." "Don't you wish to return?" "No. I love this arid land. I never see the supercilious curl of a camel's lip or meet the bland contempt of his eye but I imagine him saying, 'Ah, Feringhi, were it not for your white skin I might whisper strange secrets into your ear, but you are an unbelieving dog, so perforce I remain dumb.' Hence, Miss Fenshawe, inclination pulls one way and common sense the other. As matters stand, I plead guilty to a profound gladness that common sense has not swayed us to-day, and may escape us to-morrow. Candidly, I am enjoying myself immensely." "Then there is nothing more to be said," cried Irene, yielding somewhat to his buoyancy. "Shall we go on, or wait here for the _kafila_ to overtake us."