I do not like to dwell upon my feelings at that awful moment. Here had I risked my life to escape, and spent many weary, anxious days in crossing the desert, only to be turned back when actually in sight of my goal, and almost within hail of British soldiers! It was heart-breaking, maddening. I could hardly control myself as I went slowly back into the desert, and I dared not think of what lay in store for me. I might perish miserably in the sand-wastes, or I might stagger on till I fell once more into the hands of my late keepers, who would punish me savagely for my abortive escape. There is a bright lining to the darkest cloud, however, and so I discovered. I had not proceeded very far on my return journey when I came across a party of Bedouins who, as luck would have it, were travelling in the same direction. I promptly made friends with them, and for a small sum of money they allowed me to ride on camel-back with their wives, the journey to Ber Sheba taking about six days. Never once did any of them suspect me. Undoubtedly my disguise was well-nigh perfect, but it must also be remembered that the Bedouins are a simple people, and the reverse of cultured, so that my task was tolerably easy. Arrived at Ber Sheba once again, I bade good-bye to my new friends and sought out my old Bedouin acquaintance at the place where he lived. He was amazed to see me back so soon, and told me that the Turkish authorities had been greatly perturbed over my escape, and were still searching for me. It would be unsafe to remain, he told me, so I only stopped with him a very short time. It was obvious to me that it would be of no use to try the desert route again, so I evolved a new plan. Leaving Ber Sheba, I made for a place called Gaza, some thirty miles away, proceeding immediately after to Jaffa, where I managed to exchange my Bedouin dress for that of a European lady. I should here explain that I have found it necessary at several points in my story not to go into details, and I must also suppress the names of the kind friends who provided me with the disguise. Sundry good people who helped me are still in Palestine, and it might go hard with them if I gave any clue to their identity. VIII--THE RESCUE--ON AN ITALIAN STEAMER TO EGYPT When I reached Jaffa the Italian steamer _Catania_ had just arrived at the port, and I promptly embarked upon her, despite the strict scrutiny of a German female Customs official. She looked over all the women who boarded the steamer, but she never dreamed for one moment that I was a disguised man, and I passed on to the boat without question. On the voyage I made friends with a lady refugee, and, finding that she was to be trusted, confided my secret to her. This good woman helped me out of my last difficulty by lending me a suit belonging to her husband, to don directly I landed in Egypt. Oh! the delight of once more resuming a man's attire and a man's ways of life!