"I had forgotten," she said. "It's quite all right, only I had forgotten. I'm not afraid at all.... Why, they are nothing more than jackals—"
The moon was two-thirds full and in meridian. Three nights—and moonlight all the way. Ahead, in the east, the great planet arose. Her eyes were lost in that rising. It was then Anna Erivan sang her song, like the ancient Deborah at the end of conquest:
"A star in the East—" she whispered, leaning back to him. "Our quest—by swiftest camels.... I love it. I love the night and the cold wind—-the smell of the desert and the smell of the camels. This is our flight—and what is at the end, Beloved? ... You know, you know, what it is we journey to by swiftest camels—the risen star before our eyes—"
"A little child," said Romney.
For a moment, she clung to him.
16
They were in a country of rocks. It was late afternoon of the second day's travel, and Bamban had just found a suitable place for camp. Anna Erivan's eyes had been turned toward the south for a moment. Now her hand pressed Romney's sleeve. He followed her eyes and discerned a black movement in the distance.
Silently they watched a single black figure which presently appeared more clearly, not on account of an approach, but because of an eminence gained. They saw a signal as of a wind-blown cloak. A moment later a party of horsemen appeared upon the slope of a rolling waste of sand, halted before the figure that had signalled—then all were in the saddle and sweeping forward.
Romney's eyes turned to Bamban. The little chap was kneeling in the midst of the camp-kit, but watching the horsemen. Similar parties of horsemen had been met on the out-journey, but there had not come to Bamban's face before quite such a look as now. He stepped forward to Romney.
"It is the Dugpas," he said. "They are devils."