152 GARRYOWEN 



strike. It struck twelve, and at the last leisurely 

 and sledge-hammer stroke resumed its monoton- 

 ous ticking. The faint boom of the sea filled the 

 night, but all else was silence, and the old stage- 

 coach continued her complaint. " And now I 

 have to sleep in the open air, in the courtyard of a 

 caravanserai, exposed to all the winds of heaven. 

 At night jackals and hyenas come sniffing round 

 my boxes, and tramps, who fear the evening dew, 

 seek refuge in my compartments. Such is the hfe 

 I lead, my worthy friend, and I suppose it will con- 

 tinue till the day when, blistered by the sun and 

 rotted by the damp, I shall fall to pieces, a useless 

 heap, on some bit of road, when the Arabs will 

 make use of the remains of my old carcase to boil 

 their kousskouss. 



" ' Bhdah ! BHdah ! ' shouted the conductor, as 

 he opened the door." 



Miss Grimshaw awoke. The candle had burnt 

 itself out, and a ray of early morning sunlight was 

 peeping in through the bhnds. 



She could still hear the clank of the old stage- 

 coach — or was it imagination? She rubbed her 

 eyes. 



Yes, there it came again. The window was haK 

 open, and the sound came from the kitchen-garden 

 below ; a metalUc sound that had broken through 

 her sleep, filhng her dreams with pictures of the 

 Blidah coach and the illustrious Tartarin with his 

 guns, hunting-knives and powder-horns. 



