“Because our uncle at his death bade us so to do without fail, and having no other counsel we will take that of his spirit, let come what may.”

“Well spoken again!  Then to Al-je-bal you shall go, and let come what come may—­to all three of us!”

“To all three of us?” said Wulf.  “What, then, is your part in this matter?”

“I do not know, but perhaps more than you think.  At least, I must be your guide.”

“Do you mean to betray us?” asked Wulf bluntly.

She drew herself up and looked him in the eyes till he grew red, then said: 

“Ask your brother if he thinks that I mean to betray you.  No; I mean to save you, if I can, and it comes into my mind that before all is done you will need saving, who speak so roughly to those who would befriend you.  Nay, answer not; it is not strange that you should doubt.  Pilgrims to the fearful shrine of Al-je-bal, if it pleases you, we will ride at nightfall.  Do not trouble about food and such matters.  I will make preparation, but we go alone and secretly.  Take only your arms and what garments you may need; the rest I will store, and for it give you my receipt.  Now I go to make things ready.  See, I pray of you, that the horses Flame and Smoke are saddled by sunset.”

At sundown, accordingly, the brethren stood waiting in their room.  They were fully armed beneath their rough pilgrims’ robes, even to the bucklers which had been hidden in their baggage.  Also the saddle-bags of carpet which Masouda had given them were packed with such things as they must take, the rest having been handed over to her keeping.

Presently the door opened, and a young man stood before them clothed in the rough camel-hair garment, or burnous, which is common in the East.

“What do you want?” asked Godwin.

“I want you, brothers Peter and John,” was the reply, and they saw that the slim young man was Masouda.  “What! you English innocents, do you not know a woman through a camel-hair cloak?” she added as she led the way to the stable.  “Well, so much the better, for it shows that my disguise is good.  Henceforth be pleased to forget the widow Masouda and, until we reach the land of Al-je-bal, to remember that I am your servant, a halfbreed from Jaffa named David, of no religion—­or of all.”

In the stable the horses stood saddled, and near to them another—­a good Arab—­and two laden Cyprian mules, but no attendant was to be seen.  They brought them out and mounted, Masouda riding like a man and leading the mules, of which the head of one was tied to the tail of the other.  Five minutes later they were clear of Beirut, and through the solemn twilight hush, followed the road whereon they had tried the horses, towards the Dog River, three leagues away, which Masouda said they would reach by moonrise.