sloped downwards to the vast, dun-coloured plain. The two were blurred into one at their point of junction.
The women had sat in the silence of despair, and the Colonel had been silent also—for what could he say?—but suddenly all four started in their saddles, and Sadie gave a sharp cry of dismay. In the hush of the night there had come from behind them the petulant crack of a rifle, then another, then several together, with a brisk rat-tat-tat, and then after an interval, one more.
“It may be the rescuers! It may be the Egyptians!” cried Mrs. Belmont, with a sudden flicker of hope. “Colonel Cochrane, don’t you think it may be the Egyptians?”
“Yes, yes,” Sadie whimpered. “It must be the Egyptians.”
The Colonel had listened expectantly, but all was silent again. Then he took his hat off with a solemn gesture.
“There is no use deceiving ourselves, Mrs. Belmont,” said he; “we may as well face the truth. Our friends are gone from us, but they have met their end like brave men.”
