CHAPTER XX.

DESERT DANGERS.

IF poor Miss Petty had been wretched when she had at last stretched herself on her hard sandy bed, to be pursued even in her dreams by scorpions, she awoke to a joyful surprise.

"Look, look, Shelah!" exclaimed Theresa, rousing her tired little companion. "We've got to the end of horrid Arabia at last! No more brackish wells, with water not fit for a pig to bathe in; no more barren sand! See these shady trees before us—no doubt they are laden with fruit,—see the clear delicious water! It was horrid to have only a rub of hot dry sand in the place of good soap and water!"

Shelah rubbed her sleepy eyes, then jumped up, clapped her hands with delight, and shouted for joy. No wonder that the poor wanderers over barren wastes, under a blazing, scorching sun, with scarcely any vegetation visible but a few stunted trees, or prickly bushes in favoured spots, should be transported at the beautiful view which now met their delighted eyes. Great was the joy of beholding a large clear lake, dotted with verdant isles, which looked as if they must be the homes of bright-plumaged birds, and butterflies without number!

"It's India—I know it's India!" cried Shelah. "For papa told me that Bombay is an island, and that he would feast me on lots of mangoes and plantains. I'll just go on eating fruit from morning till night, and stuff some under my pillow to take as soon as I open my eyes!"

"And we'll be rowed about in gay boats," began Miss Petty, then, interrupting herself as she caught sight of Harold approaching, she exclaimed, "Oh! Is not this a sight to make one dance with joy!"

"A deceitful joy," said Harold sadly; "you are looking on a mirage. What appears like water is only sand."

"I don't believe it!" cried Miss Petty. "Can't I trust my own eyes?"

"I'm sure that's water!" exclaimed little Shelah.

Harold was at the moment called away by Tewfik, who wanted to make trial of his captive's strength and skill in loading a camel. Before obeying the call, Hartley repeated to Miss Petty his assertion that the supposed island-studded lake was but an optical delusion common in desert lands.

"Harold is perked up with his book-learning," observed Miss Petty, "but he's not so much wiser than his elders. Don't I know a lake when I see one!"

"I'm going to have a dip, a jolly good dip!" cried Shelah, whose spirits rose like an india-rubber ball when pressure is removed. Off she rushed, impelled by charming hopes of splashing about in the water, followed by Miss Petty, who half forgot weariness and misery in her eagerness to reach—what did not exist!

Poor Theresa! That search after the supposed lake was an emblem of what her whole life had been; impelled by vanity, worldliness, selfishness, her hair had grown grey, her years had been wasted in the pursuit of the world's deceitful mirage.

In the meantime, Harold joined the group of Arabs who were standing in a semi-circle round a collection of mashales, filled almost to bursting with a supply of water which was to last the whole party for three long days. Each of these brown water-bags was made of the entire skin of a sheep, the head and legs excepted, the place where the neck had been, serving, when unfastened, as a channel through which the water could flow.

[Illustration: The Arabs laughed to see the Feringhee take up in his arms what ought to be borne on the back.]

"Lift that!" said Tewfik to Harold, in a tone of command.

The Englishman's pride rose in arms; he was no slave of a dirty ignorant Bedouin, to do for him the work of a bihiste! But common-sense showed Harold that such pride was worse than folly; he was not told to do anything wrong, and he had no power to resist with success. The stately form was bowed, and Harold raised the heavy weight by an effort of sheer strength, for he had not the professional skill of a water-carrier. The Arabs laughed to see the Feringhee take up in his arms, as he would have done a child, what ought to be borne on the back.

"Put another mashale upon him, where a mashale should be!" shouted Tewfik.

As Harold was about to drop the first heavy skin, the Bedouin bade him forbear. "You shall carry a double load!" exclaimed the Arab. "One in your own way and one in mine. Bend your proud back to receive it."

"It is beyond my strength," said Harold, in what Arabic he could command.

"We will soon see if such be the case!" cried Tewfik, raising a staff which he had in his hand, as if with intention to strike.

But the stick did not descend, nor was the double burden lifted by the pale-faced captive.

A sudden exclamation from the chief caused all eyes to be suddenly turned towards the south, from which came a gust of wind so oppressively hot, that it seemed as if it had come direct from a roaring furnace. Every Arab, as if by instinct, muffled his face in his mantle, and then threw himself on the ground; the camels, which had been kneeling, stretched themselves out, and lay with their long necks extended, and their noses resting on the sand. Not a word was spoken save the exclamation, "The simoom! Allah save us!" which burst from the chief, as he placed himself so that his camel should be between him and the poisonous blast which was sweeping towards the encampment. The sky had almost suddenly become terribly dark, with a livid tint of purple towards the south. Harold dropped the mashale, and crouched behind it, resting his brow against the moist skin.

Then swept the deadly simoom of the desert upon the party, almost suffocating them with the burning sand which, it has been said, sometimes not only kills, but so effectually buries its victims that no traces remain to tell where they lie! To Harold the scorching blast felt like the breath of the angel of death, and he was tempted to pray that to him it might be such indeed. But life was strong within the young Englishman still: the rushing simoom came and passed over the prostrate men and beasts, as the heaviest trials sometimes come, and pass away.

The cloud of hot sand went sweeping on, and—though with garments clagged with what it had left behind—the Arabs were able to rise from the ground, uttering ejaculations which—at least from Harold's lips—took the form of thanksgiving. Yes, the poor captive could thank God, he scarcely knew why, that his life was prolonged; perhaps there was some undefined hope that it had been spared for some gracious purpose, if for suffering, still for service. Some blows might yet be struck in the good cause by the Knight of St. John.

But the simoom of the Arabian desert had had its message for one who had indeed suffered but never served. Theresa Petty, lured by the mirage, had wandered from the encampment, and had been overtaken by the poisonous blast. Being utterly unprepared for it, the unhappy woman had been smitten down, as if laid low by a scythe. The accident, as it seemed, of her lying half over Shelah O'More, and so forming a kind of screen to the terrified child, had been the means of preserving the poor little girl.

It was Shelah's bitter cry which guided the Arabs to the spot, as they were passing on their way towards Djauf. They had indeed missed their captives from the party, but Harold could not persuade the Bedouins to make any search for those whom they deemed of little value. Hartley, who was on foot, went up to the place where Shelah sat crying in helpless distress.

"Where is Miss Petty?" he hastily inquired of the child.

"She's there," said Shelah, pointing to what looked like a low, a very low mound of sand.

Harold hastily removed some of the sand, uncovering enough to ascertain that life was quite extinct.

"Dead!" he said in an undertone, but it caught the ear of Shelah.

"Dead!" repeated Shelah in turn. "The good lady is dead, and Robin, and now she is dead—I think it will be my turn next!"

"I hope not," said Harold gently.

"Would you mind?" asked Shelah.

The artless question touched Harold's heart. "Yes, I should mind very much, Shelah," he said.

The poor child, sobbing, threw herself into his arms, and clung to the only being near who cared whether she lived or died.

Harold had not a minute even to utter a prayer by Miss Petty's corpse. The Arabs, who had been already delayed in their journey by the simoom, insisted on his instantly joining the march, and, had Harold lingered, would have used force to compel submission. Gently young Hartley raised Shelah, so that, without dismounting, an Arab could place her before him on his camel. Harold himself had to go on foot.

The caravan moved slowly on, leaving the corpse of Miss Petty behind. There was a strange similarity between the fate of Grace Evendale and that of Theresa, both dying in an Arabian desert with but a single human being near, both left in unknown, unmarked graves. And yet the difference between them was as that between the convict and the conqueror; one going into endless exile, the other departing to receive a crown. The comparison suggests less of similarity than of contrast.