Chapter Forty Two.
Vagaries of Vision.
Over the rising ground we eagerly sped, halting not till we dismounted beneath the palms. The spot bore no trace of having been visited by travellers; indeed, for the past two days we had not come across a single bone of horse or camel, the country being apparently desolate and unexplored.
Having carefully recalled the old imam’s dying instructions, Octave and I became both convinced that this must be the place he had indicated. Standing together, we cast our gaze wonderingly around, but saw nothing to relieve the dreary monotony of sand and sky, except far away eastward on the distant horizon, where a great mountain loomed, misty and indistinct, in the purple haze.
“At last the supreme moment has arrived,” I said excitedly, drawing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders from the bag in which I had hidden it. “We will put the truth of Mohammed ben Ishak’s assertions, to the test.”
“How that piece of engraved metal can effect the rescue of Zoraida remains to me a mystery,” Octave exclaimed, intensely interested in the strange experiment I was about to make. He had tied his horse to a palm trunk, taken a draught from his water-skin, and now stood with folded arms, intently watching my actions.
Still half dubious as to whether the old imam had spoken the truth, I gazed upon the Crescent, tracing its mystic inscription, and vainly endeavouring to decipher it.
“Did the imam explain the exact position in which you were to place it upon your head?” asked my friend.