"We will march on a little apart from the rest," said Harold, who fully shared Robin's enjoyment, though he was less vehement in its expression.
"We cannot lose the caravan, even if no light were carried," observed Robin; "for though the camels' tread makes no sound, the horses and men give out enough noise to guide us, even though the night were darker. There is Lammikin up yonder, singing a song in her own honour; but I miss Miss Petty's familiar voice, which one usually heard first of all."
"Poor Miss Petty's voice will never be heard again!" said Harold. "Her form lies under Arabian sand."
"Like that of our saintly friend!" exclaimed Robin, who had already told Harold of Mrs. Evendale's peaceful departure. "Poor Miss Petty!" he added with genuine pity. "I never thought of her being taken so soon. I wish that I had shown her more kindness whilst she was with us!"
"And I wish that I had been less remiss in speaking to her as a minister of the Gospel ought to speak," said Harold, with self-reproach. "It is strange how we often most neglect those with whom we are brought into most constant contact; it is far easier to preach a stirring sermon to hundreds than closely to apply its lessons to one. Perhaps in nothing more than in our familiar intercourse with common acquaintances shall we, upon our death-beds, have cause to cry, like Bishop Usher, 'Lord, forgive me my sins, specially my sins of omission!'"
"And now I have a confession to make to you, Harold," said Robin. "I do not know what you will think of my conduct, but I'll make a clean breast at once, as befits a Knight of St. John. If we had not, most happily, met with Faiz ul Din in this desert, what think you that I had bound myself in honour to do?"
"I'm dull at guessing riddles," replied Harold. "I cannot imagine what you had to do with Faiz ul Din, before you had even set eyes upon him."
"Ali thought that he had killed his brother in a quarrel some years ago," said Robin, "and my poor friend had not the courage to go back to Persia, face his mother's anger, and ask her forgiveness. I urged him to go—I thought that it was his duty to do so. Did I do right, Harold, in pressing this point?"
"As far as you have told me the circumstances, I should think that you did right," replied Harold.
"But the Persian could not consent to return to his country unless I agreed to go with him," said Robin. "So I made a hasty promise one minute, and repented of it the next. I made All a promise the fulfilment of which would have separated me from you, from our father, from the work in which I long to engage. What can you think of me, Harold?"