But now their faces are stained with coal dust, and their haggard eyes look unhappy and ill.
***** The rising of the moon is fortunately at hand.

Once more in our boat we make our way slowly towards the sad rock which to-day is Philae.

The wind has fallen with the night, as happens almost invariably in this country in winter, and the lake is calm.

To the mournful yellow sky has succeeded one that is blue-black, infinitely distant, where the stars of Egypt scintillate in myriads.
A great glimmering light shows now in the east and at length the full moon rises, not blood-coloured as in our climates but straightway very luminous, and surrounded by an aureole of a kind of mist, caused by the eternal dust of the sands.

And when we return to the baseless kiosk--lulled always by the Nubian song of the boatmen--a great disc is already illuminating everything with a gentle splendour.