ad and stared out across the desert.

From a great distance there came to him the drumming of a horse's hoofs
upon the sand.

CHAPTER XXX

"_The true, strong, and sound mind is the mind
that can embrace equally great things and small._"

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

The two wise women had long since left Khargegh.

By special train, by special boat, by aid of runners, telephone and
telegraph, but above all by the magic of the Sheikh el-Umbar's name and
his wife's unlimited distribution of gold, Olivia Duchess of Longacres
and her maid and Jill el-Umbar and her maid arrived at the hotel on the
night of the full moon.

They would have arrived before sunset if it had not been for the
mistake made about the special steamer which had kept them waiting at
the quay; they would not have arrived until twenty-four hours later if
they had made use of the ordinary train and boat.

"Can't we go faster, ma'am? Can't we get there quicker?"

It was Maria Hobson, stolid, solid, dour, big-hearted woman with a
streak of Scotch blood in her veins, who worried outwardly. If you had
watched her out of the corner of your eye you would have seen her shake
her fist at the desert; if you had walked behind her on the quay you
would have heard her say, with a world of entreaty in her voice, to
some terrified, non-understanding _fellah_ who quaked at the knee:
"Can't you get a move on, somehow? You're only a heathen, to be sure,
but if you'd heard the tone in the young lady's voice you'd do
something instead of sal-aaming."

She said very little to her beloved mistress, but to Jill she poured
out her heart, and Jill who with the intuition of a mother's love had
connected the dream with her son let her repeat her tale over and over
again.

". . . Just as though she was standing on a precipice and frightened of
falling over was her voice like, Mum, Miss Jill--may I call you Miss
Jill? It's more familiar-like and--homely, and I know you will excuse
me, Miss Jill, if I say that I can't get used to you in those clothes,
pretty as they are and becoming to you. It seems to me like
fancy-dress, you with a veil over your face, if you will excuse me
saying so. You are just the same to me and my lady as when you came to
stay with her grace; and glad I for one shall be when I see the
barouche waiting for her at Victoria, with Whippup and his powdered
head on the box. I don't mind that young chauffeur with one leg lost
in the war