And then for the first time in two days he prayed--this time the prayer of the publican:-- "_God be merciful to me, a sinner_." Over and over he said the words, chokingly, watering the hot sands with his tears.

When the paroxysm had passed, it left him, weak and prone, still faintly crying his prayer into the sand, "O God, be merciful to me, a sinner." When he had said over the words as long as his parched throat would let him, he became quiet.

To his amazement, some new, strange peace had filled him.

He took it for the peace of death.

He was glad to think it was coming so gently--like a kind mother soothing him to his last sleep.
His head on his arm, his whole tired body relaxing in this new restfulness, he opened his eyes and looked off to the south, idly scanning the horizon, his eyes level with the sandy plain.