When Hosea returned, he must find him ready for departure.
He at once began to bind his sandals on his feet, but he did it slowly, and could not understand why the task seemed so hard to-day.
He passed through the camp unmolested.

The pylons and obelisks before the temples, which appeared to quiver in the heated air, marked the direction he was to pursue, and he soon reached the broad road which led to the market-place--a panting merchant whose ass was bearing skins of wine to the troops, told him the way.
Dense clouds of dust lay on the road and whirled around him, the sun beat fiercely down on his bare head, his wound began to ache again, the fine sand which filled the air entered his eyes and mouth and stung his face and bare limbs like burning needles.

He was tortured by thirst and was often compelled to stop, his feet grew so heavy.

At last he reached a well dug for travelers by a pious Egyptian, and though it was adorned with the image of a god and Miriam had taught him that this was an abomination from which he should turn aside, he drank again and again, thinking he had never tasted aught so refreshing.
The fear of losing consciousness, as he had done the day before, passed away and, though his feet were still heavy, he walked rapidly toward the alluring goal.

But soon his strength again deserted him, the sweat poured from his brow, his wound began to throb and beat, and he felt as though his skull was compressed by an iron circle.