This is a historical book. It tells how the life of weavers was in England and Egypt fifty years ago. Kinship of pain was theirs. "Peace be to thee", David said gently, as the other passed him. There was an instant's pause, and then the monk faced him with fingers uplifted. "The Grace of God be upon thee, David", he said, and his eyes, drawn back from the world where they had been exploring, met the other's keenly. Then he wheeled and entered the monastery. "The grace of God be upon thee, David!" How strange it sounded, this Christian blessing in response to his own Oriental greeting, out in this Eastern waste. His own name, too. It was as though he had been transported to the ancient world where "Brethren" were so few that they called each other by their "Christian" names--even as they did in Hamley to-day. In Hamley to-day! He closed his eyes, a tremor running through his body; and then, with an effort which stilled him to peace again, he moved forward, and was greeted by Ebn Ezra, from whom the third member of the little group had now drawn apart nearer to the acacia-tree, and was seated on a rock that jutted from the sand. "What is it?" David asked. "Wouldst thou not sleep, Saadat? Sleep is more to thee now than aught thou mayst hear from any man. To all thou art kind save thyself". "I have rested", David answered, with a measured calmness, revealing to his friend the change which had come since they parted an hour before.