The lad’s support was of some comfort to her.

In the first blue of night, when daylight lingers in the memory, they were following a sandy road towards the city, when a noise as of the sea arose behind them. The donkey-boy was first to hear it. He stood still and listened, holding up his hand. It seemed approaching on the road behind them. He looked puzzled; then suddenly let fall his hands, and made a bound.

“It is the army! Come, O my lady! We must hide ourselves. Hold fast!” He made the donkey gallop for a hundred yards, then led it down into a patch of cane. Peeping out between the stems they saw vague forms in clouds of dust approaching on the dyke above. The roar became the jangle of accoutrements, the roll of heavy carriages upon the road and murmuring voices.

Innumerable ranks of horsemen passed, dust-stained and weary, with faces resolutely strained towards Cairo. Barakah saw them as the figures of a dream. Their silhouette against the sky appeared familiar. The words with which they cheered their tired horses rang on memory.