In a broad half-circle on the other side of the fire a group of blue-shirted Arabs were squatting on the sand. A singer was warbling love-songs in a throbbing voice, a number of his comrades were beating time on the ground with sticks, and a swaggering girl, who glittered with gold coins in her hair and on her hips, was dancing in the space between. On their nut-brown faces was the flickering red light of the fire, and over their heads was the great, wide, tranquil whiteness of the moon. In the midst of their fantasia they heard the hollow thud of a camel’s tread, and presently a stranger arrived, a lanky fellow with wild eyes and a north-country accent. The Sheikh saluted him, and he made his camel kneel and got down to rest and to eat. "The peace of God be with you!" "And with you! What is your name?" asked the Sheikh. "They call me Abdel Kader, and I am riding all night to catch the train from Atbara in the morning." "It must be great news you carry in such haste, O brother." "The greatest! When the sun rises above the horizon we see no more the stars." It was obvious enough through his fine language that the stranger was eager to tell his story, and after calling for an oath of secrecy and fidelity he told it to the Sheikh and the Bedouin in bated breath. The time of the end had come! A pilgrimage had been proclaimed! Ishmael Ameer was to go up to Cairo secretly and his people were to follow him; the Egyptian army were to help them to enter the city, the hated foreigner was to be flung out of the country, and Egypt was to be God’s! The Sheikh of the village was completely carried away by the stranger’s news, but the Bedouin listened to it with unconcealed alarm. "Is this the plan of Ishmael Ameer?" he asked. "It is," said the stranger, "and God bring it to a happy end!" "Did anybody put it into his head?" asked the Bedouin. "Yes, a woman, his wife, and God bless and reward her!" "His wife, you say?" "Wallahi!" said the stranger, and then, with many fine sentiments and much flowery speech, he told of the lady, the White Lady, the Rani, the Princess, who had lately been married to Ishmael Ameer and had now so much power over him. "What says the old saw?" said the stranger. "’He who eats honey risks the sting of bees,’ but no danger in this case." And then followed more fine sentiments on the sweetness and wisdom of woman in general and of the Rani in particular. "Well, he who lives long sees much," said the Bedouin, with increasing uneasiness; and, turning to the Sheikh, he asked if he might have the loan of a fresh camel in the place of the one that was disabled. "Certainly, but my brother is not leaving me to-night?" asked the Sheikh. "I must," said the Bedouin. "But the night is with us," said the Sheikh. "And so is the moon, and the tracks are clear," said the Bedouin. "But one thing you can do for me, O Sheikh—send a letter into Khartoum by the train that goes up from Metimmeh in the morning."