“Shut up, Cochrane! What do you want to aggravate him for?” cried the Irishman.
“Upon my word, Belmont, you forget yourself! I do not permit people to address me in this fashion.”
“You should look after your own manners, then.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, here are the ladies!” cried Stephens, and the angry, over-strained men relapsed into a gloomy silence, pacing up and down, and jerking viciously at their moustaches. It is a very catching thing, ill-temper, for even Stephens began to be angry at their anger, and to scowl at them as they passed him. Here they were at a crisis in their fate, with the shadow of death above them, and yet their minds were all absorbed in some personal grievance so slight that they could hardly put it into words. Misfortune brings the human spirit to a rare height, but the pendulum still swings.
But soon their attention was drawn away to more important matters. A council of war was being held beside the wells, and the two Emirs, stern and composed, were listening to a voluble
