Now, the love of God ran in his veins like fire, every sight and sound spoke to him of the Christus Consolator. It was more than mere cold belief, a _love_ or personal devotion to Christ welled up in him. The figure of the Man of Sorrows was very near him--there was a great fiery cross of stars in the sky above him. He entered the little tent to pray. He prayed humbly that it might be even thus until the end. He prayed that this new and sweet communion with his Master might never fade or lessen till the glorious daylight of Death dawned and this sojourning far from home was over. And, in the name of all the unknown millions whom he was come to this far land to aid, he prayed for success, for the Truth to be made manifest, and for a happy issue out of all these afflictions. "And this we beg for Jesus Christ, _His_ sake." Then much refreshed and comforted he emerged once more into the serene beauty of the night. He lit his pipe and sat there, quietly smoking. Presently Ibrahim the Egyptian began to croon a low song, one of the Egyptian songs that soldiers sing round the camp-fires. The man had done his term of compulsory service in the past, and perhaps this sudden transition from the comfortable quarters in Jerusalem to the old life of camp-fire and _plein air_ had its way with him and opened the springs of memory. This is part of what he sang in a thin, sad voice: _Born in Galiub, since my birth, many times have I seen the Nile's waters overflow our fields. And I had a neighbour, Sheikh Abdehei, whose daughter's face was known only to me: Nothing could be compared to the beauty and tenderness of Fatmé. Her eyes were as big as coffee cups, and her body was firm with the vigour of youth. We had one heart, and were free from jealousies, ready to be united. But Allah curse the military inspector who bound my two hands, For, together with many more, we were marched off to the camp. I was poor and had to serve, nothing could soften the inspector's heart. The drums and the trumpets daily soon made me forget my cottage and the well-wheel on the Nile._ The long-drawn-out notes vibrated mournfully in the night air. Sadly the singer put his hand to one side of his head, bending as if he were wailing. The quaint, imaginative song-story throbbed through many phases and incidents, and every now and again the motionless figures round the red embers wailed in sympathy. At last came the end, a happy climax, no less loved by these simple children of the desert than by the European novel reader.