"You not need food much longer," replied the man with a grim smile, as he led the way out into the scorching sunlight.
"Evidently," thought George, "they don't intend to waste time with me. But, by Jupiter! I'll make a fight for it when the time comes!"
The place he was in was a small encampment of mud huts scattered about amongst a scrubbly low bush. A number of rebel soldiers were to be seen in various attitudes of laziness, all smoking or chewing. As George passed along with his guide they eyed him with much disfavour, without moving from their particular position of ease, and if looks could kill, he would never have reached the officer's hut alive.
"What place is this?" he asked, more interested in his surroundings than in his fate. "Is it Kafr Dowar?"
The man shook his head and refused to answer. Not yet satisfied, George tried again.
"How far is this from Alexandria?"
This time the answer came short, sharp, and in deep tones of hatred.
"Too far for the Christian ever to return."
"How these wretches do hate Europeans," thought he, as he trudged along beside the man and began to think more seriously of what was in store for him.
A few yards further on they stopped outside the same hut where they halted the night before. The guard knocked at the door, which was instantly opened, and two soldiers barred the way. George's guard at once explained, and the two men fell back, leaving them free to enter.