The rotatory movement passed with the first whirl, but a hurricane, blowing with overcoming velocity, pressed like a wall against anything that strove to face it.  Its hoarse raving filled Kenkenes’ ears with titanic sound.  The breath was snatched from his nostrils; his eyelids, tightly closed, were stung with sharply driven sand.  Though he struggled to his feet and attempted to proceed, he staggered and wandered and was prone to turn away from the solid breast of the mighty blast.  He could not hope to make headway blinded, yet he dared not lift his face to the sand.  He could make a shelter over his eyes that he might watch his feet, but he could not discover path and direction in this manner.

The day was far advanced, and already the army had outstripped him.  Might not Har-hat at this hour be descending with his veterans, seasoned against the simoons of Arabia, upon Israel, demoralized in the storm?

Desperate, the young man dropped his hands and flung up his head.

He was standing in a soft light, very faintly diffused about him but narrowing ahead of him, brightening, as it contracted, into almost daytime brilliance to the south.  The illuminated strip was not wide; the plateau to the west was dark; the farther east likewise storm-obscured.  Taking courage, he raised his eyes for an instant.  The drifting sand would not permit a longer contemplation, but in that fleeting glimpse he discovered the source of the supernatural radiance.  The pillar was tinged like a cloud in the sunset, with a mellow and benign fire.

Kenkenes did not marvel and was not perplexed.  The miracles no longer amazed him, but he had not become indifferent or unthankful.  Each forward step he took was a declaration of faith; the thrill of relief in his veins, a psalm of thanksgiving.  The stones were as many and as sharp, the way as untender, and the mighty tempest strove against him as powerfully, but he followed the ray, trusting it implicitly.

Night fell unnoticed for it merged with the supernatural darkness of the day.

At the summit of the slope which led down to the water’s edge, he paused.  Below him was a gentle declivity ending to the south in darkness.  There was not a glimmer of radiance on the sea.  Far to the east could be heard the sound of infuriated surges, storming the rocks, but dense darkness shrouded all the distance.  Only the beach directly under him was alight.  The shadows cast were blacker than daylight shadows, and the radiance had a touch of gold, which gilded everything beneath it.  The poorest object was enriched, the gaudiest subdued.

Had the number of Israel been ten thousand or even a hundred thousand, Kenkenes might have had some conception of the multitude.  The millions massed below him on the sand were not to be looked on except as a vast unit.

The tribes were divided, the herds were collected at the rear or inland side, and the lepers were isolated, but no order in detail was possible.  Tents were down, goods were being gathered, and much commotion was apparent.  Even at a distance Kenkenes could see that consternation and dismay were rife among Israel.  The whole valley was murmurous with subdued outcry, and a multitudinous lowing and bleating of the herds swept up, blown wildly by the hurricane.