"Who are you?" cried the sentry again, and then Gordon answered— "Omar." "Omar—what?" cried the sentry. Again Gordon was speechless for a moment. "Answer!" cried the sentry, and he raised his rifle to his shoulder. "Omar Benani the Bedouin," said Gordon at last, and then the sentry lowered his gun. "Pass, Omar Benani. All’s well!" But Gordon had a still greater surprise awaiting him. As he was going on, he became aware that the Egyptian soldier was walking by his side and speaking in a low tone. "Have they taken him?" he was saying. "Taken whom?" asked Gordon. "Our English brother—the Colonel—Colonel Lord. Have they arrested him?" It was not at first that Gordon could command his voice to reply, but at length he said— "Not yet—not when I came out of Cairo." "El Hamdullillah!" (Praise be to God!) said the sentry, and then in a louder voice he cried— "Peace to you, O brother!" Whereupon Gordon answered as well as he could for the thickening of his throat which seemed to stifle him— "And to you!" More sure than ever now that God’s hand was leading him, he walked on with a quicker step than before, and presently he saw in the distance a dark group which he recognised as Osman and the camels. "Allah be praised, you’ve come at last," whispered Osman. He was a bright and intelligent young Egyptian, and for the last hour he had lived in a fever of alarm, thinking Gordon must have fallen into the hands of the police. "They got wind that you were hiding at the Coptic Patriarch’s house," he said, "and were only waiting for the permission of the Agency to raid it at eleven o’clock." "I left it at ten," said Gordon. "Thank God for that, sir," said Osman. "The Prophet must have taken a love for you to carry you off so soon. We must start away now, though," he whispered. "It’s past twelve, and the village is fast asleep!" "Is everything ready?" asked Gordon. "Everything—water, biscuits, dates, durah, rifles——" "Rifles?" "Why not, sir? Two good Bedouin flintlocks. Even if we never have occasion to use them they’ll help us to divert suspicion." "Let us be off, then," said Gordon. "Good," said Osman. "If we can only get away quietly our journey will be as white as milk." In the shadow of a high wall the camels sat munching their food under their saddles covered with green cloth and decorated with fringes of cowries, and with their sahharahs (square boxes for provisions) hanging on either side. They were restive when they had to rise, and it was as much as Osman could do to keep them from grunting, being so fresh and so full of corn. But he held their mouths closed until they were on their feet, and then mounted his own camel by climbing on its neck. A moment afterwards the good creatures were gliding swiftly away into the obscurity of the night, with their upturned, steadfast faces, their noiseless tread, and swinging motion.