while approaching nearer and nearer, till now we were in his very presence.
But to see Serbal is one thing, and to ascend it is quite another. This is not in the usual programme of a pilgrimage to Mount Sinai. Although the caravan route winds round its base, most travellers only look up with awe at that majestic form, and pass by at a respectful distance. They almost shudder at the sight of its tremendous cliffs, and are quite willing to leave them unscaled. But Dr. Post, who is of an aspiring mind in such matters, was not so easily satisfied. No sooner did Serbal show its head in the distance than it seemed to fascinate him, and he began to throw out hints like these: "What a grand thing it would be to climb yonder awful height!" and "How far below us, in every sense, should we leave ordinary pilgrims!" until he gradually poisoned my innocent mind with his ambition. The dragoman said nothing, for he was not allowed to say anything, his only place being to carry out the will of his imperious masters. He only suggested meekly that, as it was a long day's march, we should need to start very early in the morning. To this we had no objection. Indeed having once got the idea into our heads, the only way to get it out was to make the attempt. This once decided upon, the idea haunted me even in my dreams. Half a dozen times in the night I rose and went to the door of the tent, and looked out to see if there were not some faint forerunner of the dawn; but the full moon still rode high in heaven, and poured down a flood of light on mountain and valley, and rock and ruin, and on the white tents, around which Arabs and camels were sleeping motionless as if in death. But long before daybreak there was a stir in the camp. The fire was lighted, the cook was bustling about, and the coffee sent forth a sweet smell. The cameleers had brought up our beasts to the
