Ishmael groaned and staggered, but the woman showed no pity.
"Better have contented yourself with a woman of your own people, who would have been true and faithful," she said in a bitter whisper.
Covered with shame, Ishmael turned away. He looked for Zogal.
The black Dervish was at that moment struggling to sustain the people's faith in the Master and his mission by means of a pagan superstition.
"Give me a mutton bone," he had said, and having received one, he had looked at it long and steadfastly in order to read the future.
As Ishmael came up to the smouldering fire about which Zogal and his company were squatting, the wild-eyed Dervish was saying—
"It will be well! Allah will preserve His people, and the Master will be saved! Did I not tell thee the bone never lies?"
"Zogal," said Ishmael, "sound the horn, and let the people be brought together."
The sky was dark. The stars had gone out. It was not yet midnight.
CHAPTER XI