All was bustle and movement in the camp, for the old Emir had mounted his camel, and some of his party were already beginning to follow their companions. The squat lieutenant, the Moolah, and about a dozen Dervishes surrounded the prisoners. They had not mounted their camels, for they were told off to be the ministers of death. The three men understood as they looked upon their faces that the sand was running very low in the glass of their lives. Their hands were still bound, but their guards had ceased to hold them. They turned round, all three, and said good-bye to the women upon the camels.
“All up now, Norah,” said Belmont. “It’s hard luck when there was a chance of a rescue, but we’ve done our best.”
For the first time his wife had broken down. She was sobbing convulsively, with her face between her hands.
“Don’t cry, little woman! We’ve had a good time together. Give my love to all friends at Bray! Remember me to Amy McCarthy and to the Blessingtons. You’ll find there is enough
