if they were destined to undergo the unpleasant experience of being lost
in the desert. The sun high overhead afforded no help; and Wargrave
remembered neither the direction of the city nor where lay the ravine in
which the beat had taken place.

"You don't happen to know where we are, I suppose, Mrs. Norton?" he
asked his companion.

"I haven't the least idea. It looks as if we're lost," she replied
calmly. "We had better wait quietly where we are instead of wandering
about trying to find our way. When we are missed the Maharajah will
probably send somebody to look for us."

"I daresay you're right," said Wargrave. "You know more about the desert
than I do. By Jove, I'd give anything to come across the camel that
Raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice. My throat is parched. Aren't
you very thirsty?"

"Terribly so. Isn't the heat awful?" she exclaimed, trying to fan
herself with the few inches of cambric and lace that represented a
handkerchief.

"Awful. The blood seems to be boiling in my head," gasped the subaltern.
"I've never felt heat like this anywhere else in India. But, thank
goodness, it seems to be clouding over. That will make it cooler."

Mrs. Norton looked around. A dun veil was being swiftly drawn up over
sun and sky and blotting out the landscape.

"Good gracious! There's worse trouble coming. That's a sandstorm," she