Bidding the other two sailors help him, Royson turned to
carry out a disagreeable task. Von Kerber, Alfieri, and the rest must
be buried while there was yet light. He meant to make a rough inventory
of documents and letters found in the pockets of the Europeans. The
Arabs would scoop shallow graves where the sand was deepest, and pile
heavy stones over the bodies to protect them from jackals. Such was the
simple ceremony of the desert. And it demanded haste.
But a distressing sight awaited him. Mrs. Haxton was kneeling by von
Kerber's side, and weeping in a heart-broken way. He went to her, and
said, almost in a whisper:
"You can do no good by remaining here. Won't you go to the tent that is
fixed in the oasis, and wait there until I join you? I shall not be
long. You understand--it is for the best."
She raised her streaming eyes, and he had never before seen such a
grief-stricken face.
"Mr. Royson," she murmured dully, "let me pray yet a little while."
"Indeed I am sorry for you," he said. "Yet I must urge you to go.
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