"And the men? Does it matter about the men?" she asked perfunctorily. She did not feel that she really cared.
"All the men sleepin', except Hamza. Him watchin'."
The tents of the men were at some distance. She looked, and saw no movement, no figures except the faint and grotesque silhouettes of the hobbled camels.
"I say that I follow my Lord Arminigel."
They started into the desert. As they left the camp, Mrs. Armine saw Hamza behind her tent, patrolling with a matchlock over his shoulder.
The night was dark and starless; the breeze, though slight and wavering over the sands, was penetrating and cold. The feet of Mrs. Armine sank down at each step into the deep and yielding sands as she went on into the blackness of the immeasurable desert. And as she gazed before her at the hollow blackness and felt the immensity of the unpeopled spaces, it seemed to her that Ibrahim was leading her into some crazy adventure, that they were going only towards the winds, the desolate sands, and the darkness that might be felt. He did not speak to her, nor she to him, till she heard, apparently near them the angry snarl of a camel. Then she stopped.
"Did you hear that? There's some one near us," she said.
"My lady come on! That is a very good dromedary for us."
"Ah!" she said.
She hastened forward again. In two or three seconds the camel snarled furiously again.