If she could win his love, and accompany him to England—a grand and mysterious region which she had all her life longed to see—Thyra thought the climax of happiness would be reached.
But still she felt a terrible presentiment that, not only would this never be accomplished, but that some dread and imminent fate was hanging over her.
"To-morrow," she murmured, "the hand of destiny will lie heavily upon me; there is a voice within that tells me so."
And this melancholy condition continued throughout the hours of darkness.
She looked out of her tent.
All around her slept.
Even the sentinel had fallen asleep beside the camp fire.
The air was laden with the chill breath of night, but the stars were fading and the first gleams of dawn were breaking through the eastern mists. At such a time the appearance of the vast desert was especially gloomy and depressing.
Thyra turned her gaze in the direction of the town.
What cloud was that coming thence, and advancing along the plain towards the camp?