THE END OF THE JOURNEY 309 



brought us out of them. At a pace which would have 

 made light of the long trail to Zakar we trotted on to 

 the hatia at Girba, where, under the largest palm, waited 

 a doctor complete with aluminium fittings. The cars 

 arrived exactly at the correct moment. The road to Siwa 

 was unexpectedly smooth and oh! how hot and plentiful 

 was the bath water at the rest house! 



There I discarded my worn barracan with a sigh of 

 relief, yet, as I wandered through the honeycomb of old 

 Siwa, with its close-piled houses one upon another and 

 its labyrinth of dark tunnels that serve as streets, I was 

 ashamed before the gaze of Arabs. It seemed to me 

 intolerable that a Moslem should see my face unveiled. 

 Instinctively I pulled at my hat brim and my flying cloak, 

 for, curiously, the soul of this people had become mine 

 and I resented the lack of privacy till I remembered that 

 the Sitt Khadija was no more! 



Once again we spent a night in the desert, but this 

 time in the shelter of a tarpaulin hung between two 

 F.D.A. cars, which were to take us to Matruh, and it 

 was a tame desert with friendly caravans passing and 

 newly sunk cisterns to prove the enterprise of its 

 Governor. Yet the silvery moon was the same that turned 

 the Hawari sands to molten amber, scarred with the 

 sapphire of her palms, and I crept beyond the shelter and 

 the comfort to watch the setting of the star that Moham- 

 med had always wanted to "put out!" 



"Warm congratulations on your success," said 

 generous-hearted officialdom at Siwa and Matruh an^ 

 the more than kindly welcome was our best reward. 



"So you have been to Kufara," said a civilian on the 

 coast. "It is an island, isn't it, but I always thought 

 it was spelt Korfu!" 



Then I met a pretty Englishwoman. The stripe in 

 her skirt matched her French sweater and faint scent 



