els had rested two days, and now strode forward with quick steps. But though we had a rest under a cliff at noon, we were very, very tired ere the day was done. It was a pity that we were so, for we camped in a spot where one would wish to have all his senses at command, to take in the fullest enjoyment. We had come through a wady that was one of the longest and widest in the Peninsula, and camped at the very end, from which, looking back, we had such a view of Serbal as it was worth travelling many days to see, his five columns seeming like the very portals of the Celestial City as they stood up clear against the western sky. But I was too weary to enjoy the sight even of the gates of the New Jerusalem, and no sooner were our tents pitched and our camp-beds spread than I threw myself down and fell asleep. Dr. Post, in a private letter written months afterward, alludes, among the experiences on the desert which he so vividly remembers, to "our fatigues and sickness and perils." These are things that we do not often speak of. But now that it is all over, I think I can say that that night he was in grave anxiety. I saw it in his face as he watched the symptoms with a fear which he afterwards confesses, though he did not dare then to express, that the morning would find in the tent a patient with a raging fever. His watchfulness and skill checked it. When morning came, I was still very weak and feverish, but not for a moment did I think of remaining in camp. On the desert, sick or well, one must press on. It is death to stop long, although it may seem like death to move. And as we were within half a day's march of Sinai, it was worth rising up even from a sick bed to make a last effort.
We were now to cross a rugged pass, which leads over into the broad valley or plain that slopes to the foot of Mount Sinai. It is fitly called the Pass of the Winds,
