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In the distance we could see a few hill-fires and the torches of night-wanderers as we enjoyed our evening meal. But no sooner had I begun to wonder how many hours must pass before our experience became history, than, behold, a gust of wind tore up the prop of our tent and buried us in confused débris.

There was nothing for it but to extract ourselves and sit upon instead of beneath the shelter that had been found for us. The cheik bravely proceeded to delight me with all the wisdom of his religious philosophy while the officer went in search of help. I have done strange things in strange lands, but I wonder what would British “authority” say to this? An unarmed, but fearless, Englishwoman in the damp, cold mists, waiting through the dark night for her “discomfort to become history,” amidst an army of supposed savage fanatics, and debating the greatness of God! Truly, the Unknown bears strange offspring.

Little darts of light, no bigger than glowworms, are now everywhere moving up and down the steep paths through the black mist.