The chief led the way across a sandy desert.
The moon shone brightly, and its rays made the drifting sand look like so much dazzling silver.
It was a scene of weird grandeur.
In the distance rose the pyramids, those monuments of a past civilization, which are alike the envy and the wonder of the world.
The procession seemed to be winding round the city at an increasing distance, and nearing the pyramids.
Max forgot all fear and was oblivious to any danger.
The scene was to him one of rare beauty, and he enjoyed it.
If he could but have talked to the chief—if he could have been free, his happiness would have been complete.
But he was a prisoner, mistrusted and abused.
He dare not speak, and could not act.