“Things are looking up,” cried the Colonel. “By George, I think we are going to come through all right. The Gippy Camel Corps are hot on our trail.”
“How do you know?”
“What else could have scared them?”
“O Colonel, do you really think we shall be saved?” sobbed Sadie. The dull routine of misery through which they had passed had deadened all their nerves until they seemed incapable of any acute sensation, but now this sudden return of hope brought agony with it like the recovery of a frostbitten limb. Even the strong, self-contained Belmont was filled with doubts and apprehensions. He had been hopeful when there was no sign of relief, and now the approach of it set him trembling.
“Surely they wouldn't come very weak,” he cried. “Be Jove, if the Commandant let them come weak, he should be court-martialled.”
“Sure, we're in God's hands, anyway,” said his wife, in her soothing, Irish voice. “Kneel down with me, John, dear, if it's the last time, and pray that, earth or heaven, we may not be divided.”
“Don't do that! Don't!” cried the Colonel, anxiously, for he saw that the eye of the Moolah was upon them. But it was too late, for the two Roman Catholics had dropped upon their knees and crossed themselves. A spasm of fury passed over the face of the Mussulman priest at this public testimony to the failure of his missionary efforts. He turned and said something to the Emir.
“Stand up!” cried Mansoor. “For your life's sake, stand up! He is asking for leave to put you to death.”