Grin and bear with it all, and your servants and your camels, your companion and your days, will not appear so insufferably obnoxious or so outrageously long, in the land of the Pharaohs.
The caravan was a big one on account of the multitude of gifts Sir Richard carried, with which to buy peace, if not plenty, as it journeyed from Jiddah, skirting the territory sacred to the Holy City, down through the mountainous, fertile district of Taif and southwards along the Wady Dowasir, with its many villages, up to Hutah in the Oasis of Hareek, where commences the Great Desert.
It is wise not to reckon altogether on gifts and a smattering of the language and courtesy to get you safely to your destination in Arabia, but, as they will take you many miles upon your journey, they should be looked upon as the chief items on your list of necessities—especially the last.
Helen Raynor and the man she had learned to love in the distracting, ridiculous, mirth-provoking and aggravating incidents of the journey, laughed, as they looked back to the storms they had weathered safely, through love and a perfect sense of humour and comradeship, unwitting of the news about themselves which had been conveyed, in the mysterious manner of desert places, to Zarah the Cruel who had only waited to attack, with as much patience as she could muster, until the caravan should leave Hutah far behind and arrive at a certain spot between the Hareek mountains and those of the Jebel Akhaf.
The north wind dropped suddenly whilst they talked in whispers, and with it the veil of sand it had spread across the heavens, leaving the desert desolate and formidable under the light of the full moon, save where the camp fires flung red and orange flames and trails of smoke across the silvery sheen.
“‘Even the grains of sand are numbered, neither can a sparrow fall unless He knows it?’” Helen quoted to herself as she stared out across the waste, then turned and put her hand in that of the man beside her who had been watching her and wondering at the anxious look upon her face.
“I feel crushed under a great weight of responsibility, Ra,” she said, speaking in a whisper induced by the fear that had suddenly fallen upon her at the sight of the phantoms in the distance. “I do wish I hadn’t suggested this hare-brained expedition to Grandad. I somehow never thought it would mean such a big undertaking and perhaps, after all, the water was only seen in a mirage by some exhausted pilgrims all those centuries ago.”
Fearful for her, Ralph Trenchard fully agreed in his heart, but contradicted her in an effort to reassure her.
“Oh! I don’t know, dearest. I don’t think you are in the least bit responsible. Your grandfather has been set on discovering this water ever since he read the document all those years ago, and if he hadn’t done it this year he would have done it later, and then I shouldn’t have been here to see you through, should I?”
“No, of course you wouldn’t!” replied the girl, as she looked up into the handsome face. “If we hadn’t pitched our camp just outside Ismailiah, which we shouldn’t have done if we had not been starting on this adventure, you and I would not have met.” She touched the scar on his temple as she spoke, the look of trouble deepening in her eyes. “You laughed at me when I told you about the scene we had with Zarah, the Arabian girl, at school, when she said she saw herself on a mountain peak and me in the dust at her feet and a man with a scar upon his temple, coming towards her. But, you see, she did meet you and recognize you, and she came from somewhere about here, Ra, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my thoughts since we left Hutah. She hated me, Ra, hated me, and, as you know, I believe in the power of thought.”