I was picturing the scene of our arrival--the shade and the repose, the long, cool drinks, the friendly hum of the bazaars--and wondering what letters I should find awaiting me, all to the tune of 'Onward, Christian soldiers'-- for the clip-clap of a horse's hoofs invariably beats out in my brain some tune, the most incongruous, against my will--when a sudden outcry roused me.

It came from my companion, a hired muleteer, and sounded angry.

The fellow had been riding on ahead.

I now saw that he had overtaken other travellers--two men astride of one donkey--and had entered into conversation with them.

One of the two, the hindmost, was a Turkish soldier.