"Ay, ay, sir," said Chaytor. He named three men, and the four hurried to their post. Bidding the other two sailors help him, Royson turned to carry out a disagreeable task. Von Kerber, Alfieri, and the rest must be buried while there was yet light. He meant to make a rough inventory of documents and letters found in the pockets of the Europeans. The Arabs would scoop shallow graves where the sand was deepest, and pile heavy stones over the bodies to protect them from jackals. Such was the simple ceremony of the desert. And it demanded haste. But a distressing sight awaited him. Mrs. Haxton was kneeling by von Kerber's side, and weeping in a heart-broken way. He went to her, and said, almost in a whisper: "You can do no good by remaining here. Won't you go to the tent that is fixed in the oasis, and wait there until I join you? I shall not be long. You understand--it is for the best." She raised her streaming eyes, and he had never before seen such a grief-stricken face. "Mr. Royson," she murmured dully, "let me pray yet a little while." "Indeed I am sorry for you," he said. "Yet I must urge you to go. We have not a moment to lose." "To lose? What else can happen?" "The night is coming. We cannot leave the bodies here. It would be too horrible." "Ah," she sighed, "there is no horror to equal mine. I have the blood of three men on my soul." She suffered him to lead her away. He tried to console her by throwing all the responsibility on to the Italian. But he felt that this palsied woman scarce listened to his words. He was almost glad to leave her alone with her mournful thoughts. In active work he could find distraction from the sad influences of this fatal treasure-hunt. There were still many things he did not comprehend, but he resolutely dismissed all self-communing. Perhaps, when the first paroxysm of woe had exhausted itself, Mrs. Haxton might explain; meanwhile, he must endeavor to hide the chief features of the tragedy ere Irene arrived.