When at last sleep came to him, it did little to give him the rest he required, or to restore peace to his nerves, for his dreams were a vivid repetition, horribly exaggerated, of his journey through the subterranean village. He had lost his way; he was wandering through the airless arteries of the village. His body was covered with house-flies; his nose and ears tickled with them; they crawled into the corners of his mouth; scabs had broken out on his face and body. No little child in the street was a more hideous and loathsome object than he felt himself to be.
* * * * * *
No child was ever more pleased to see its mother than Michael was to see Abdul, when he came to wake him and remind him that that same evening they ought to reach the hills, and prove that the Omdeh's rumour about the treasure was either false or true. Never for one instant had Abdul doubted the vision; he had never considered the fact that there might never have been any treasure at all. His second sight—his truer sight—had seen it. That was sufficient.
Michael felt strangely disinclined to exert himself to get up and ride from sunrise until sundown. It seemed to him a task which he could never fulfil. But Abdul was obviously full of suppressed excitement. He was eager for his master to bestir himself and show something of his usual enthusiasm and vitality. The Omdeh's story had sorely disturbed him.
"I will be ready, Abdul," Michael said. "Make me some strong coffee."
"Aiwah, Effendi."
"Very strong, Abdul!"
"Aiwah, Effendi, very strong."
CHAPTER IX
In the Valley where the Pharaohs sleep, below the smiling hills, the heat and the power of the sun were becoming an actual danger. The best working hours were those which began at dawn and terminated at eleven o'clock.