When the lesson was over a request came from the men for me to
speak to them. Through my dragoman as interpreter I spoke a little
while on the theme of the evening, which meant much to me there
where the migration of Moses was in a measure felt by the early
inhabitants. They listened attentively, and when I had finished
they told my guide to say to "hawadje" that they wanted him to
stay and make his home with them. Then, the meeting over, they
moved out into the darkness with graceful "salaams," and with the
promise of one of their number to accompany us on the morrow. They
said we must not go on alone.

The service-room is now to be my bed-room. A pallet is brought to
me, and on it I am soon trying to sleep. But the beautiful sun-
set, the vision of the past of this region, the mission-service,
the stillness of the night--so still that the very silence seems
audible--keep me awake for some time. I am lying by the "watch-
tower of Gilead." I seem to see the Spirit of Prophecy standing on
its broken battlements, wrapped in the shadows of the night,
looking hopefully toward the place of sun-rising. I call to him,
"Watchman, what of the night?" In sweet tones of assurance comes
the answer, "The morning cometh! The story of the Christ will yet
transform the darkness that rests here into the brightness of
noonday." Then a sweet peace seemed wafted into my soul from out
the unseen somewhere,--but certainly from Him who "giveth his
beloved sleep."