of the songs of pilgrimage in high
and nasal voices. Once at a roadside station there was for some
unexplained reason a long delay, during which Mrs. Armine sat at the
window and looked out upon the crowd, while Nigel got down to stretch
his legs and see the people at closer quarters. Loud and almost angry
hymns rose up not only from some of the starting pilgrims, but also from
many envious ones who would never be "hajjee." Presently, just before
the carriage door, a strange little group was formed; a broad, sturdy
man with a brutal, almost white-skinned face garnished with a bristling
black beard but no moustache, who wore the green turban, an elderly man
with staring, sightless eyes, carrying a long staff, and three heavily
veiled women, in thin robes partially covered with black, loose-sleeved
cloaks, whose eyelids were thickly adorned with kohl, whose hands were
dyed a deep orange-colour with the henna, and who rattled and clinked as
they moved and the barbaric ornaments of silver and gold which circled
their arms and ankles shifted upon their small-boned limbs. The blind
man was singing loudly. The women, staring vacantly, held the corners of
their cloaks mechanically to their already covered faces. The man with
the bristling beard talked violently with friends, and occasionally,
interrupting himself abruptly, joined almost furiously in the blind
man's hymn. On the platform lay a few bundles wrapped in gaudy cloths
and handkerchiefs. From outside the station came the perpetual
twittering of women.

As Mrs. Armine looked at these people Nigel came up.

"They are going to Mecca," he said. "You see those bundles? The poor
things will be away for months, and that is all they are taking."

The blind man shouted his hymn. Fixing his small and vicious eyes upon
Mrs. Armine, the man with the beard joined in. A horn sounded. Nigel got
into the carriage, and the train moved slowly out of the station. Mrs.
Armine stared at the man with the beard, who kept his eyes upon her,
always roaring his hymn, until he was out of sight. His expression was
actively wicked. Yet he was starting at great expense with infinite
hardships before him, to visit and pray at the Holy Places. She
remembered how Baroudi had stared at her while he sang.

"What strange people they are!" said Nigel.

"Yes, they are very strange."

"One can never really know them. There is an eternal barrier between us,
the great stone wall of their faith. To-day