, before the shadow of my tent shall reach yon rope, I shall
have looked upon thee."

He knew!

His heart told him who was coming to him out of the night; his knowledge
of the desert enabled him, by the drumming sound of the hoofs upon the
sand--a sound which has not its semblance in the world--to know to a
second when the mare would stop before the tent.

It was not the Hour of Nazam, the Hour of Prayer before dawn, the dawn
which was to see his questions answered, but he turned and, pulling back
the velvet-soft leather curtain, entered the small room lighted by a
silver lamp hanging just above the crystal basin full to the brim with
water.

No! it was not the Hour of Nazam, but filled with the Oriental's
mysterious premonition of that which is to befall, he performed the
prescribed ablutions of the Hour of Prayer. Three times he washed his
nostrils, his mouth and hands and arms to the elbow; the right first, as
ordained, then the head and neck, and ears once and feet once.

He stood erect, with his hands above his head, for five full minutes,
whilst the drumming of the sands sounded nearer and nearer, then emptied
the water in a circle upon the desert sands, refilled the crystal basin
with water from a crystal pitcher and passed into the tent and out upon
the sands across which, and even as a speck upon the horizon, he saw the
mare Pi-Kay racing. And he threw his hands heavenwards with a great cry:

"Allah be praised! Oh, Allah, unto thee I give thanks!"--the prayer of
thanksgiving uttered by his own father so many years ago.

It was a sight to watch, that of the snow-white mare Pi-Kay stretched
out, flying like the wind, ridden by a slip of a girl with her gleaming
cloak streaming like a banner behind her; but the look upon the man's
face was still more wonderful to behold as he stood motionless, sharply
outlined against the orange light behind him.

The mare slackened not her pace one whit; like a thunderbolt she hurled
herself right up to where stood the master she loved with all her great
equine heart; then she stopped short, fine fore-legs spread wide; then
reared until it seemed she must fall backwards; then crashed down to rear
again, until the loved voice bade her stand.

With the strange frozen look in her eyes which gave them the appearance
of ice-bound lakes, and which had been there since she had crept from the
hotel, Damaris slipped from the saddle into the arms of Hugh Carden Ali,
and there