When the galley was one day out from Cyprus steering for the coast of Syria, they fell into a calm such as is common in those seas in summer.  This calm lasted eight whole days, during which they made but little progress.  At length, when all were weary of staring at the oil-like sea, a wind sprang up that grew gradually to a gale blowing towards Syria, and before it they fled along swiftly.  Worse and stronger grew that gale, till on the evening of the second day, when they seemed in no little danger of being pooped, they saw a great mountain far away, at the sight of which Lozelle thanked God aloud.

“Are those the mountains near Antioch?” asked Hassan.

“Nay,” he answered, “they are more than fifty miles south of them, between Ladikiya and Jebela.  There, by the mercy of Heaven, is a good haven, for I have visited it, where we can lie till this storm is past.”

“But we are steering for Darbesak, not for a haven near Jebela, which is a Frankish port,” answered Hassan, angrily.

“Then put the ship about and steer there yourself,” said Lozelle, “and I promise you this, that within two hours every one of you will be dead at the bottom of the sea.”

Hassan considered.  It was true, for then the waves would strike them broadside on, and they must fill and sink.

“On your head be it,” he answered shortly.

The dark fell, and by the light of the great lantern at their prow they saw the white seas hiss past as they drove shorewards beneath bare masts.  For they dared hoist no sail.

All that night they pitched and rolled, till the stoutest of them fell sick, praying God and Allah that they might have light by which to enter the harbour.  At length they saw the top of the loftiest mountain grow luminous with the coming dawn, although the land itself was still lost in shadow, and saw also that it seemed to be towering almost over them.

“Take courage,” cried Lozelle, “I think that we are saved,” and he hoisted a second lantern at his masthead—­why, they did not know.

After this the sea began to fall, only to grow rough again for a while as they crossed some bar, to find themselves in calm water, and on either side of them what appeared in the dim, uncertain light to be the bush-clad banks of a river.  For a while they ran on, till Lozelle called in a loud voice to the sailors to let the anchor go, and sent a messenger to say that all might rest now, as they were safe.  So they laid them down and tried to sleep.

But Rosamund could not sleep.  Presently she rose, and throwing on her cloak went to the door of the cabin and looked at the beauty of the mountains, rosy with the new-born light, and at the misty surface of the harbour.  It was a lonely place—­at least, she could see no town or house, although they were lying not fifty yards from the tree-hidden shore.  As she stood thus, she heard the sound of boats being rowed through the mist, and perceived three or four