"They will walk with the drivers, my lord?"
"Nay, not so. Thou shalt put the saddle upon Mirah, it will suffice for both."
Marvelling greatly at this mark of favor, the men brought the great white dromedary, the favorite of her master, and threw upon her the broad saddle, gay with scarlet leather and tinkling bells.
Seth stared with amazement and delight at the docile beast that stood with outstretched neck snuffing at the fresh wind.
"What dost thou make of such favor to these beggar brats?" said one of the men in low tones to his companion, as he bent to fasten the saddle girth.
"Nay, I know not; ’tis a marvel," answered the other, looking cautiously about him. "Adah told me last night that he had promised to take the lad after his return in the place of his son Eri."
"Ah, sayest thou so? Let me tell thee then that the lad will not return. Why should such a thing be, when the son of his sister is among his tried followers?"
"What wilt thou do to prevent it, son of my lord’s sister," said the other, with a low chuckle--"and a kid slain also, in the very midst of the mourning, that the heathen beggars might be feasted!" he added with malicious enjoyment.
Seth prudently drew back in the darkness quite unnoticed, but not before a fragment of the reply reached him; it was this, and it filled him with vague alarms. "What befell the lad Joseph in the days when he dreamed dreams, may also again happen."
Who was the lad Joseph, he wondered, and what befell him? But he presently forgot this in the bustle and excitement of starting forth upon their journey. Anat had been aroused, and the two, perched securely on the back of the gentle Mirah, were the centre of a group of women, some of whom held up their little ones to see, while others pushed parcels of fruit into the hand of the blind girl, wishing them prosperity in their journeyings.
At length all was ready, the last strap adjusted, the last farewell spoken, and the little cavalcade, consisting of some three or four camels and as many men, moved slowly away, followed by the stately Mirah, the two children, unaccustomed to the peculiar swinging motion of her gait, clinging fast to the saddle and scarcely remembering to look back into the kind faces of their rescuers.