"Stay, my son! Stay, Mustapha! It is no lake,—it is a device of Satan. What you behold is the mirage, spread by devils for men's destruction."
"Let me go!" shrieked Mustapha, writhing and struggling.
But even as he strove, the soft water-outlines shifted and trembled; the lake rose in air, melted, and sailed off into curling mists; the trees, the whole fair picture, dissolved, and the well-remembered sands and black rocks took its place. With a cry of horror, Mustapha slid through his father's arms to the earth, hid his face, and cried like a child.
Next morning, only one date was left in the bag. Ahmed put it in his son's hand with a mournful look.
"Eat, my son," he said; "eat, and then we will die. Allah il Allah!"
A long silence followed; there seemed nothing more to say. Suddenly, from afar off, came to their ears the tinkle of a bell.
Mustapha raised his head.
"Is it the mirage again, my father?" he asked. "For it seems to me that I hear the bell from the neck of Solimin, our camel."
Eagerly they listened. Again the bell tinkled, and, looking through the bushes, they saw, floating toward them, as it seemed, the form of a gigantic camel. Soundless and still, it moved rapidly along. Behind, but much farther away, other forms could be seen, still dim and indistinct, veiled by the mist of driving sand.
