Anstice never forgot that first day's ride over the desert sand. They had started early, very shortly, indeed, after daybreak, and by the time the sun was fully risen they were already some miles on their way.

It was a heavenly morning, the dry and glittering air full of that peculiar, crisp sparkle which mounts to one's head like champagne. The sand shone and twinkled in the yellow sunshine with an almost dazzling effect, and the pale blue sky had not yet taken on the pitiless ultramarine hue which comes with the brazen noon.

The horses, too, seemed alive to the exhilarating quality of the air. They curvetted and danced over the sand, tossing their arched necks and lifting their feet daintily as though they were conscious of the beauty and fitness of their own motion.

"By Jove, Sir Richard, life is worth living on a morning like this!" Anstice threw back his head and inhaled large draughts of the intoxicating, sun-warmed air. "Why on earth do we herd in cities when there are glorious tracts of desert land where one might pitch one's tent! I declare I wish I were a nomad myself!"

"You feel like that?" Sir Richard looked a trifle wistfully at the younger man, envying him his superior youth and more robust physique. "For my part I confess to a distrust of the desert. It seems to me as though there were a blight on these huge tracts of sand, as though the Creator had regretted their creation, yet was too perfect a Worker to try, by altering the original purpose of His handiwork, to turn them into something for which they were not intended."

He paused, pulling up his horse and turning in his saddle to survey the yellow and brown waste over which they had come.

"I suppose, as an Englishman whose forbears have always clung to the soil, I find more pleasure in beholding an English landscape," he said, with a smile which was half apologetic. "The ideal of making two blades of grass spring where there was but one before may not be a very exalted one, but I confess I see more beauty in a field of grain waving under the August sun, than in these acres of yellow sand, and the thought of a perpetual summer, with never the soft grey tones of an autumn sky or the crisp frostiness of a winter's morning—well, it doesn't appeal to my John Bull soul!"

He laughed, ashamed of his vehemence, and the horses sprang gaily forward, glad to be moving again after even so brief a halt.

All through the morning they rode, resting for an hour or two at noon; and in the late afternoon they remounted their horses and fared forth once more in search of the camping-place Sir Richard had in mind.

By dint of compasses and an unusually accurate sense of location, the older man had staked their course with admirable directness, and as the moon rose they drew rein at the appointed destination, a wild and rocky valley whose caves offered a natural protection from the chill night breeze which blew with disconcerting freshness over the loose, salt-impregnated sand.

Here, thanks to the ever-useful thermos flask, they enjoyed a sufficient meal of hot soup, followed by a multitude of sandwiches of divers kinds; and when, after a pull at their respective flasks, the two lit their pipes and stretched their limbs, cramped by the day's exertions, Anstice, at least, felt more at peace with the world than he had felt for years.

To be hastening towards Iris Cheniston, to be sure of meeting her within twenty-four hours, sure of seeing the kind friendliness of her wide grey eyes, of hearing the soft cooing notes of her voice, was enough to make a man content with his lot; and the fact that he was journeying towards her in order to do his best to save the life of the one human being who stood between him and his happiness lost all its irony when he remembered that it was in reality Iris herself for whom this service was undertaken.

The next morning found them early astir; and as their horses danced over the sand, literally throwing the miles behind them, Sir Richard's spirits, which had been somewhat fluctuating, rose with a bound. He whistled gaily as they rode, ever and anon breaking off to conjecture on the nature of the welcome they might reasonably expect to receive; and when he spoke, as he did frequently, of his son-in-law, his prognostications, in striking contrast with his former pessimism, were couched in the most hopeful language.

Strange to say, as his spirits rose, so did those of Anstice sink. An odd foreboding, a premonition for which he could not account, displaced the gladness from his heart; and as they rode on and ever onwards he told himself that they were surely riding towards tragedy.

Possibly it was the Celtic strain in him which rendered him liable to these strange and perverse forebodings of evil. On sundry other occasions in his earlier youth he had fallen with appalling swiftness from the heights of glad anticipation to the depths of a certain and most unwelcome gloom; and now, quite suddenly, he found himself involved in a black and rayless melancholy which seemed to fortell some catastrophic happening at hand.

It was with more and more difficulty that he replied to Sir Richard's hopeful prophecies; and so strong upon him was the premonition of disaster that when he learned at last that they were within an hour or two's ride of their destination he spurred on his still willing steed in a sudden desire to know the worst which was to befall.

As he stared ahead of him, his eyes beginning to adjust themselves now to the peculiar conditions of the desert atmosphere, he caught sight of a speck upon the sand which, unlike the majority of desert objects, the scanty tamarisk bushes, the low humpbacked hills which here and there formed an apparently endless chain, appeared to move, to grow almost imperceptibly larger as the distance between them diminished.

During their ride over the desert they had met no other human beings. Once or twice they had seen, to right or left of their track, a collection of mud huts, overshadowed by the plumy tufts of tall date-palms, betokening the presence of a handful of fellaheen scratching a livelihood from the unfriendly sand. Again they had twice beheld in the far distance a caravan winding its leisurely way upon some mysterious errand to an unknown destination; but these last had been too far away for their component parts of horses, camels, merchandise, to be distinguished; and after a brief glance towards the long snaky lines as they wound their way through the sand, Sir Richard and Anstice had wisely refused to strain their eyesight further.

But this solitary unit on the vast face of the desert was a different matter; and Anstice gazed steadily ahead in an as yet fruitless attempt to make out what this thing which appeared to move towards them might be.

At first he said nothing, thinking that his eyes might quite conceivably be playing him tricks, that this apparently moving figure might possibly be a figment of his brain, or one of those delusive sprites which are said to haunt the unwary traveller in the desert; but at length, as the distance between the object and himself diminished more and more rapidly, until he could have sworn he caught the flutter of a blue robe, Anstice felt it time to point out the vision or whatever it might be to his as yet unseeing companion.

"Sir Richard," he said, so suddenly that Sir Richard, who had been jogging along sunk in reverie, started in surprise. "Do you see anyone coming towards us over the sand?"

Sir Richard, thus appealed to, sat up more erectly in his saddle; and gazed with his keen old eyes in the direction of Anstice's pointing hand; and Anstice watched him with an anxiety which was surely out of place.

After a moment's fruitless search Sir Richard unslung the field-glasses which he carried, and applied them to his eyes; and in another moment, having adjusted the focus, he uttered an exclamation.

"By Gad, Anstice, you're right! It's a native of sorts, and he is coming directly towards us. He is too far off for me to distinguish his features—you look and see what you can make of him."

He handed the glasses to Anstice, who raised them to his eyes; and after adjusting the lenses to suit his younger, keener sight, he swept them round in an attempt to focus the distant object.

First an apparently illimitable expanse of sky and sand swam slowly into view, each insignificant landmark in the desert magnified almost incredibly by the powerful glasses; and at last the blue-robed native appeared suddenly as though only a stone's throw away from the man who searched for him.

The glass revealed him as an Arab of an ordinary type clad in a faded blue djibbeh, over which he wore the short grey coat so inexplicably beloved of the native. On his head was a scarlet fez; and his blue robe was gathered up in such a way as to leave bare his brown and sinewy legs as he paddled ruthlessly and unhesitatingly over the burning sand.

As he lowered the glasses Anstice gave a short description of the advancing native to Sir Richard, adding:

"He seems to be in something of a hurry—he's covering the ground in a most energetic fashion—and he really does appear to be making straight for us!"

All at once Sir Richard's lately-born optimism fell from him like an ill-fitting garment. Taking the glasses back he adjusted them once more with fingers that absolutely trembled; and when after a long and steady stare he lowered them and turned to his companion his face was very serious.

"Anstice, I hope to God I'm mistaken, but that fellow looks uncommonly like Hassan—and from the haste he's making I should say he had been sent out to meet us. And that can only mean disaster—either Bruce is worse, or——" He broke off suddenly, his fine old face suddenly grey.

"Oh, it won't be so bad as that, sir!" Unconsciously Anstice replied to the unspoken suggestion. "Possibly your daughter has sent this chap to relieve your mind—Cheniston may have taken a turn for the better—heaps of things may have happened."

"Quite so." Sir Richard was replacing his glasses in their case with oddly fumbling movements. "But I wish to God we were safely back ... we can't even see the village for these confounded palm trees!"

As though the horses understood and sympathized with the mental tension of their riders they sprang forward with renewed energy; and some hard riding brought the two men within hailing distance of the approaching native.

"It is Hassan all right," said Sir Richard with a rather painful attempt at composure. "Let us hurry on and find out what is amiss at the village."

As the native drew nearer it was easy to see that he was the bearer of important news. His coffee-coloured face was shining with drops of perspiration, and his breath came in pitiful gasps as he hurried up to Sir Richard and began pouring out his story in a flood of mixed Arabic and English which was quite unintelligible to Anstice.

"Speak slower, man, slower!" Sir Richard spoke emphatically, and for a space the native obeyed; but it was evident from the look of mingled consternation and rage in his hearer's face that the story was one of dire import.

When, presently, the Arab ceased, his tongue positively lolling out of his mouth like that of a thirsty dog, Sir Richard turned to Anstice with an air of determination.

"Things have been moving, with a vengeance, in our absence," he said grimly. "It seems that yesterday morning early young Garnett found a couple of Bedouins prowling about his place and helping themselves to his choicest produce; and being a hotheaded young fool he let fly at them with his revolver, the result being that by a most unlucky chance he winged one of the rascals and the other assisted him off, vowing vengeance on the whole little English colony of eight souls. It was not an empty threat either; for when Hassan, feeling uneasy at the idea of harm coming to Iris, slunk into the village to find out, if possible, what mischief was afoot, he ran slick into a conclave of the brutes, and hiding behind a rock heard their plans."

"They were pretty deadly, I suppose?"

"They merely embraced the wholesale massacre, under cover of night, of the English men and women who had been fools enough to trust their good faith," returned Sir Richard shortly. "Well, Hassan, whose wits are as sharp as his ears are long, lost no time in going back to his mistress with the information; and between them they evolved a plan which might, with the most marvellous luck, be successful."

"And that plan, sir?" Anstice's tone was tense.

"Aided by Hassan, at the approach of night the whole little group of white people crept safely into the Fort of which I told you; and when, a couple of hours later, the Bedouins came forth intent on reprisals, they found the houses of the English empty, and realized, too late, that the Fort was quite a different nut to crack."

"It is a fairly safe building?"

"Well, it has certain natural advantages, I grant." Sir Richard spoke rather dubiously. "We went over it one day, in a spirit of curiosity; and I have a pretty clear recollection of the place. To begin with, as I told you the Bedouin encampment is a sort of oasis in a valley at the foot of some quite respectably high rocks. You know the desert is not, as some people imagine, merely a flat expanse of sand. Here and there are ranges of hills, limestone, and so on—and now and then one comes across quite a chain of rocky places which in another country would be looked upon as precipices."

He paused; and Anstice waited eagerly for him to continue.

"Well, this Fort is, very luckily, built on a plateau overlooking the valley. On one side the ground slopes gently down to the little colony, but on the other the Fort overlooks a high precipice of rock which of course affords no means of transit from the ground below; so that on that side the place is absolutely impregnable."

"I see." Anstice's tone held a note of relief. "Well, that sounds fairly promising—as I suppose it means there are only three sides to defend instead of four."

"Well, it is a circular building," Sir Richard explained, "and there are only slits in the walls on two sides; and also, fortunately for us, only one means of entrance or exit, in the shape of a massive door which could hardly be forced without a charge of dynamite. It was the stronghold, so I gather, of a kind of robber chief in the old days, and doubtless was built to resist possible assaults from lawless tribesmen. But there is one weak spot in the building—one or rather two places which are a decided menace to any defence."

"And those——"

"Well, it seems this French artist, Massenet by name, sought and obtained permission from the authorities who leased him the building to throw out a couple of windows in the upper floor which enabled him to convert the place into a very passable studio. He was a rich man—son of a well-known Paris banker, and the cost did not intimidate him. But the result is that those two big windows, which only boast the flimsiest of sand-shutters, are, without a doubt, capable of being made into means of entry, provided, of course, that the defenders within are short of ammunition or are unable to construct efficient barricades."

"I see. I suppose they are a fair height from the ground?"

"Yes—but there are such things as ladders," said Sir Richard dryly. "Of course a mere handful of men, given a sufficiency of ammunition, might keep an attacking party at bay almost indefinitely. But I'm afraid our supply of munitions is somewhat scanty, and with women—and children—to defend——" He broke off suddenly as the native began to speak.

"You go a-back, bring help, bring many gentlemens. Me and the Effendi take care of ladees ... but you go quick—bring the soldiermans...." He stopped, as though at the end of his suggestions.

"Yes." Sir Richard's face lighted up. "I see what he means. Anstice, you or I must make all speed back to Cairo and fetch out some soldiers. The barracks swarm with them, and if I know them they'll jump at the chance of a little scrap like this. With luck you'd be back in three days—less, if you pushed your horses—and by God I believe we could hold the Fort till then!"

As he finished the native nodded his head as though in approval of the plan; but suddenly his expressive features lengthened, and he said something in a lower tone to Sir Richard in which the words "El Hakim" occurred more than once.

Sir Richard listened restively, and uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

"Well, well, there's no need to repeat it so often! Anstice, this fellow points out that after all I had better be the one to go for help, as he says your aid is urgently required at the Fort. Besides Cheniston, who seems, from what I can gather, to be in about the same state as before, Garnett got wounded last night when the besiegers tried to force an entrance, and I suppose the sooner you get to them the better."

"Well, there's something in that," conceded Anstice, reluctant to deepen the disappointment in Sir Richard's face. "You see, sir, the sooner I fix up Cheniston the better—but why shouldn't this fellow go and fetch help instead of you?"

Sir Richard's eyes brightened, but after another colloquy with the Arab his former air of dejection returned.

"He says—confound him—that the authorities in Cairo would pay more attention to me than to him—and I suppose he's not far wrong. Also he points out that with his knowledge of the land and of the language he would be of more use to the garrison"—he used the word half ashamedly—"than I, who know little of either. His plan is for me to return immediately with all possible speed to fetch help, while you and he seek, under cover of night, to enter the Fort, a task which I gather," said Sir Richard grimly, "is not altogether devoid of risk."

Anstice said nothing, but his mouth was set in a hard line which betokened ill for anyone who attempted to bar his way into that same Fort, and with a half-strangled sigh Sir Richard continued his speech.

"It seems on the whole the best plan, though God knows it's hard to turn round and leave my only daughter in this damned hole. Still, I see the logic of the thing, and if you are willing to go forward, why, there's nothing left for me but to turn back."

"I'll go forward all right," replied Anstice quietly. "And if you will trust me, I will do my best to carry on until you arrive with reinforcements."

"In that case I'll go at once," said Sir Richard more briskly. "Which is the better horse? Yours, I think—and if so I'll take it and hurry back to Cairo. But first let's have a look at the provisions—I'm a tough old fellow and can do without a lot of stuff, but I daren't risk failing on the way. Luckily we are lavishly provided."

Hearing this speech the Arab smiled gleefully and produced from some mysterious recess in his robe a square package, tied with string, and handed it, still smiling, to Sir Richard, who took it with a rather mystified expression.

"It's food—what you call grub," explained Hassan proudly. "The ladees make it—say it carry the Effendi back to le Caire"—in common with many Arabs he gave the city its French name—"and it good grub too!"

Sir Richard slipped the packet into his pocket with a rather uncertain smile, and turned to the matter of transit without loss of time.

Anstice's horse was the fresher of the two, and it was decided that Sir Richard should start at once, and when at a safe distance dismount and rest until moonrise, after which the night hours might profitably be spent in journeying onwards, since night-riding in the desert is infinitely preferable to riding by day.

"With luck you should make Cairo very early on the day after to-morrow," said Anstice, who had been making a calculation. "And if you could get started again without loss of time you could be here in just under three days. But that would mean hard riding, I'm afraid——"

"I'm pretty tough," said Sir Richard again. "And after all you'll have the harder part. I suppose"—he turned to Hassan—"I suppose there is no possibility of getting help nearer than Cairo—no village or settlement to which I might apply?"

No, Hassan opined, it was of no use seeking help elsewhere. The one or two native villages within call were quite inadequate to render assistance, and to apply to them would be a loss of time which would have no practical result.

When once Sir Richard was assured of the impossibility of procuring help nearer than Cairo he wasted no further time in discussion, but mounted his horse with a businesslike air and proceeded to take leave of Anstice with a heartiness which but thinly disguised his real and gnawing anxiety.

"I will make all possible speed," he said, as he settled himself sturdily in his saddle. "And with luck three days should see me back. In the meantime"—for a moment his voice faltered, but he pulled himself together pluckily—"I leave my girl in your care. And I know"—Sir Richard spoke very slowly—"I know you will guard her, if need be, with your life...."

"Thank you for your trust, Sir Richard." In Anstice's hand-grip Sir Richard read the measure of his resolve. "I will not fail you—nor your daughter—so long as I am alive."

Sir Richard wrung his hand, tried to speak, and failed, utterly, to articulate a syllable. But the look which the two men exchanged spoke more eloquently than words, and Sir Richard, as he rode away on his mission, knew that so far as mortal man might compass success his daughter's safety was assured at this man's hands.

When Sir Richard had ridden away, sitting squarely in his saddle, with never a backward look, Anstice turned to Hassan.

"Now," he said, "how do we proceed? I mean"—he remembered that the man understood little English—"do we go straight back to the village—and what do we do with this horse?"

Hassan's explanation was necessarily somewhat unintelligible, being couched in a polyglot mixture of French and English, with a few words of Arabic thrown in, but by dint of patient inquiry Anstice presently made out the drift of his involved speech. Briefly, his plan was as follows.

It would be useless, so Hassan asserted, to attempt to return to the village and enter the Fort until darkness covered the land. The Bedouins, it seemed, already surrounded the place so that Hassan's escape had been a matter of some difficulty, and it would be necessary to proceed cautiously, with careful strategy, in order to re-enter the place in safety.

When once it was comparatively dark—if possible before the moon rose—the attempt must be made; and in the meantime Hassan considered the wisest thing to do was to shelter somewhere and rest in preparation for the evening's adventures.

The horse, he decided, must be turned loose outside the village. The Bedouins, as he pointed out, would be likely to snap up readily a horse of such good appearance, and in any case Hassan was plainly of the opinion that a horse's existence was of very little importance when graver matters were at stake.

Although, as an Englishman, Anstice was inclined to rate the horse's value as a living creature more highly than the Arab was disposed to do, he saw the reason of the plan, and agreed to follow Hassan's advice in every particular.

Having come to this wise resolve, he invited Hassan to choose a place where the time of waiting might be passed, and the native deciding on a little sandy hollow between two low, round-backed hills, he proceeded to ensconce himself more or less comfortably on the loose and drifting sand, and prepared to endure the waiting-time with what patience he might.