There was a halt at this place for some hours. Almost every one slept, but Grace Evendale was unable to do so, she was too feverish and ill. Her refreshment was silent prayer, and the heart's unvoiced hymn, which could be heard only by God. Then came the shivering chill of fever. The lady felt like a dying woman when the Bedouins, rising from their siesta, prepared themselves for a start.
The water-skins had been partially, very partially replenished. A few dried dates were brought out, and partaken of by all but the suffering widow. The groaning camels were then made to kneel, and were remounted. The terrible journey must not be delayed, for many and many a weary mile of desert had to be traversed before the weary party could meet with another well.
[CHAPTER XI.]
A JOURNEY ENDED.
"WILL this dreadful jolting go on for ever—for ever!" exclaimed poor Miss Petty in despair, as the red, fiery sun dipped behind an expanse of sand, almost level as the ocean, flooding it with lurid lights. "Every bone in my body seems dislocated, and my head is ready to burst. Will these horrible camels never stop!"
The hardy camel is able to travel twelve hours in the twenty-four, and to pause where there is not water might be fatal to travellers in the desert. The nearest well was yet more than two hours' journey in front. The camels had been unable to quench their thirst at the last station, the supply had been scanty even for their riders.
Night was just falling on earth—night oppressively hot—yet its darkness would be some relief after the glaring day. The camel on which Robin was seated with an Arab, had fallen a little behind the rest. The nearest to it was that of a Bedouin, to whom the chief had transferred the charge of Mrs. Evendale.
Robin could see through the darkening shade that this Arab ever and anon turned his head to look on what was behind him, and then laid his hand on what, in the dim gloom, looked like a roll of black drapery, with something white hanging lifelessly down.
"Has Mrs. Evendale fainted?" was Robin's thought, and it made him very uneasy, for he could not even question the Arab who had so precious a charge. Presently the dark object—almost noiselessly—fell from the height of the camel down on the ground below. Robin was near enough to be certain that the form of his friend lay extended upon the plain. The Arab must have thought her dying or dead, for, as soon as she had fallen, he urged on his weary beast to rejoin his companions in front.
Almost before he had time to think of what might be the consequence to himself of rashly following the impulse of his heart, Robin managed, he knew not how, to fling himself down from his height, very narrowly escaping a fall, and being trodden under the splay foot of the heavy beast on which he had been riding. He could not, were life itself at stake, go on and leave that dear form to the vultures. The Arab above loudly remonstrated; but Robin could not understand him, and did not choose to listen.