Anon the scar-faced man turned over, moving others.

Could it be near dawn already, and were his proprietors waking up?  He could see no change in the East, no paling of the lustrous stars.  Was it an hour ago or eight hours ago that the night had fallen?  Had he an hour to live or a night?  Would he ever see Berbera again, steer a boat down its deep inlet, gaze upon its two lighthouses, its fort, hospital, barracks, piers, warehouses, bazaars; drive a camel along by its seven miles of aqueduct, look down from the hills upon this wonderful and mighty metropolis, greater and grander than Jibuti, Zeyla, Bulhar and Karam, surely the greatest and most marvellous port and city of the world, ere driving on through the thorn-bush and acacia-jungle into the vast waterless Haud?  Would he ever again see the sun rise in the desert, smell the smoke of the camel-dung cooking-fires....  What was that?  The sky was paling in the East, growing grey, a rose-pink flush on the horizon—­dawn and death were at hand.

Before the heralds of the sun, the moon slowly veiled her face with lightest gossamer while the weaker stars fled.  The daily miracle and common marvel proceeded before the tired eyes of the bound slave; the rim of the sun appeared above the rim of the sea; the moon more deeply veiled her face from the fierce red eye, and gracefully and gradually retired before the advance of the usurping conqueror—­and the slave seemed to hear the fat croaking voice of the leader saying, “At sunrise”.

Broad day and all but he asleep.  Well—­it had come at last.  When would they awake?  Was the toni anywhere near?

The man with the geometrical pattern of scars on his face and chest suddenly sat bolt upright like a released spring, yawned, looked at the sky and the limp sail, and then at Moussa Isa.  As his eye fell upon the boy he smiled copiously, protruded a very red tongue between very white teeth, and licked huge blue-black lips.  He leaned over and awakened the Leading Gentleman.  Then he pointed to the Victim.  Both watched the horizon where, beyond distant Bombay and China, the sun was appearing, rising with the rapidity of the minute hand of a big clock.  Neither looked to the West.

The child knew that when the sun had risen clear of the sea, he might look upon it for a minute or two—­and no more.  A puff of wind fanned his cheek; the sail filled and drew.  The boat moved through the water and the one-eyed gentleman, arising and treading upon the out-lying tracts of the sleepers, stumbled to the rudder, which was tied with coconut-fibre to an upright stake.  The breeze strengthened and there was a ripple of water at the bows.  Was he saved?

The one-eyed person looked more disappointed than pleased, and observed to the Leading Gentleman:  “We cannot live to Aden, though the wind hold.  We must eat,” and he regarded the figure of Moussa Isa critically, appraisingly, with mingled favour and disfavour.  His expressive countenance seemed to say, “He is food—­but he is poor food”.