Next morning I was off to join Feisal in his cool eyrie at Aba el Lissan. We discussed histories, tribes, migration, sentiments, the spring rains, pasture, at length. Finally, I remarked that Allenby had given us two thousand camels. Feisal gasped and caught my knee, saying, “How?” I told him all the story. He leaped up and kissed me; then he clapped his hands loudly. Hejris’ black shape appeared at the tent-door. “Hurry,” cried Feisal, “call them.” Hejris asked whom. “Oh, Fahad, Abdulla el Feir, Auda, Motlog, Zaal⁠ ⁠…” “And not Mirzuk?” queried Hejris mildly. Feisal shouted at him for a fool, and the black ran off; while I said, “It is nearly finished. Soon you can let me go.” He protested, saying that I must remain with them always, and not just till Damascus, as I had promised in Um Lejj. I, who wanted so to get away.

Feet came pattering to the tent-door, and paused, while the chiefs recovered their grave faces and set straight their headcloths for the entry. One by one they sat down stilly on the rugs, each saying unconcernedly, “Please God, good?” To each Feisal replied, “Praise God!” and they stared in wonder at his dancing eyes.