“Weel, Mr Lascelles Hamilton,” exclaimed Campbell, on scrambling off the back of his kneeling conveyance—the fatigue of a ten hours’ ride, in a dreadfully hot sun, having brought all the beauties of his accent to the tip of his tongue—“Weel, Mr Lascelles Hamilton, I say, ye have played us a pretty trick, mon.”
“My dear friend, I forgot to tell you yesterday, that I was forced to ride round by Tel el Yahoudi, the last great city of the Jews—a race I honour for their obstinacy and their wealth. They are destined to return to Palestine, when it shall be their lot to recover it, from this place. I promised my friend Benjamin the Banker to bring him a relic from the place, and report if it be a suitable purchase to prepare for the conquest of Syria. I have bought him a bronze goose and a serpent of clay, undoubted antiques; and I shall send him an original report.”
There was not much society among the travellers that evening. Mr Ringlady had his dinner served in his magnificent tent in solitary dignity. Lascelles Hamilton and Campbell were soon heard snoring from fatigue. Sidney and Aali, however, were too anxious about the success of their project to think of sleep until they had held a long consultation with Sheikh Hassan, the Kehaya of Sheikh Salem Abou Rasheed, and the guide of the takterwan and its escort. Poor Aali had absolutely so little control over the movements of his bride that he hardly dared to turn his eyes in the direction of the cumbrous sedan, which concealed the sacred treasures of the harem.
Sidney, Aali, and Hassan walked to a solitary palm-tree of unusual bulk, standing far from the grove which now marks the utmost limit of cultivation: a proof, among many others around Belbeis, that in the days of its renown, the waters of the Nile were conducted far into the desert, and fertilised whole districts now baked into solid clay. When they were seated under the tree, safe from intruders, who could not approach unseen, Aali commenced the conversation.
“Hassan, we are now safe out of Misr, with one day’s start of any pursuers, for your departure cannot be known. Are you sure all is right at Saba Biar, and that we can reach it to-morrow? The takterwan is not fatigued?” This seemed to be the nearest approach Aali could make, according to Moslem etiquette, to an inquiry after his bride’s health; so Sidney listened to the answer of Hassan with considerable curiosity. But, alas! for romance even in the deserts of Arabia. Hassan replied in the most matter-of-fact tone:—
“We have fresh dromedaries here, and they are excellent. We shall proceed like Beddauwee to-morrow. But can the Ferenks keep up us?”
“Never mind the Ferenks,” said Sidney: “persuade the Tergiman Mohammed to get the dromedaries along, and their masters must follow.”
“Is the Ferenk who came on before, thy friend?” said Hassan to Sidney. “He is a wondrous man, and doubtless a learned.”
“He is a wise man,” quoth Sidney, “though he seemeth somewhat mad; but he will not be the first to lag behind.”
“But,” interrupted Aali, “how have you arranged, Hassan, with the camel-drivers to change their loads and let us proceed with the dromedaries without exciting suspicion?”