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Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara

by William Le Queux · English · Gutenberg #40994 · 806,626 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara

Author: William Le Queux

Illustrator: Harold Piffard


        
Release date: October 9, 2012 [eBook #40994]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40994

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZORAIDA: A ROMANCE OF THE HAREM AND THE GREAT SAHARA ***

Zoraida
A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara
By William Le Queux
Illustrations by Harold Piffard
Published by Tower Publishing Co Ltd, London.

Zoraida, by William Le Queux.

________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________
ZORAIDA, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

CHAPTER ONE.

ALI BEN HAFIZ.

The adventure was strange, the mystery inexplicable.

A blazing noontide in the month of Moharram.  Away across the barren
desert to the distant horizon nothing met the aching eye but a dreary
waste of burning red-brown sand under a cloudless sky shining like
burnished copper.  Not an object relieved the wearying monotony of the
waterless region forsaken by nature, not a palm, not a rock, not a
knoll, not a vestige of herbage; nothing but the boundless silent
expanse of that wild and wonderful wilderness, the Great Sahara, across
which the sand-laden wind swept ever and anon in short stifling gusts
hot as the breath from an oven.

Far beyond the Atlas mountains, under the fiery rays of the African sun,
I was riding with all speed in order to overtake a caravan which I had
been informed by the cadi at Wargla had started for Noum-en-Nas, the
small town in the Touat Oasis, two days before my arrival.  The caravan,
I learned, was composed of camels, therefore, mounted as I was on a
fleet Arab stallion, and guiding myself by my pocket compass and the
very inadequate map of the Depot de la Guerre, I expected to come upon
them ere two suns had set.

Four long breathless days had now passed, yet I could detect no living
thing.

In the far south of Algeria the intense dry heat of summer always
affects Europeans, and although clad lightly in haick and burnouse, with
my feet thrust into rough slippers, I was no exception.  Alone in that
trackless, arid desert, with my food and water nearly consumed and my
brain aflame with fever, I was bound to admit my position decidedly
unenviable.  I was afflicted by a hundred miseries.  Into my face the
glaring noonday heat was reflected by the sand; I was hungry, my throat
was parched, the racking pain of fatigue cramped my bones, and my horse,
weary and jaded, stumbled now and then as he plodded slowly onward under
the fierce, pitiless rays.

The two Chasseurs d'Afrique who had been sent with me for protection by
my friend the General of Division, had foolishly partaken of melons soon
after leaving Tuggurt, and had been stricken down with illness in
consequence; therefore I had been compelled to set out upon my journey
into the Areg alone.

Suddenly, about an hour after noon, my eager eyes were rewarded by a
sight in the far distance of a cloud of dust.  Spurring my horse, I
galloped onward, and in half an hour the bells of the camels and the
jingle of the horses' trappings fell upon my ears.  The dense whirling
cloud of sand preceded the cavalcade, and whenever a gust of wind parted
it, slow-plodding camels heavily laden with merchandise, glittering
arms, and flowing scarlet and white burnouses could be seen.  In this
way the caravan presented itself as I pressed on towards its flank.

Within fifty paces of the vanguard I dug my heels into the horse's sides
and bounded across to the head of the convoy of a dozen Spahis.  A
solitary rider journeying across the desert is such an unusual spectacle
that the ferocious-looking advance guard, fearing attack, shouted and
lowered their rifles.

"_Phtaris_!  Peace be upon thee!"  I cried in Arabic, seeing myself
received in such a hostile manner.  "Cowards!  Thou seemest afraid that
a single Englishman will attack thy caravan!"

The guards, thus reproached, muttering that they were pressing through
the turbulent country of the Beni Zougs, raised their weapons with a
look of shame upon their dark-bearded faces, while their chief reined
his horse to interrogate me.

"Whose is this caravan?"  I asked, disregarding his string of
rapidly-uttered inquiries.

"It belongeth to Ali Ben Hafiz, the merchant of Biskra," he replied.

"And thou art on thy way to Noum-en-Nas?"

"True," he answered, with a puzzled look.  "But how dost thou know?
What dost thou want with us?"

"Conduct me to thy master," I said.  "It is imperative that I should
speak with him."

As I uttered these words, an elderly grave-faced man, with a long white
beard flowing over his spotless burnouse, rode up, and, judging him to
be the merchant for whom I had been searching, I greeted him and gave
him peace.

"_Aish ism arrajol di_?"  ("What is the name of this man?") he asked
suspiciously of the chief of the convoy.

"My name," I exclaimed, "is Cecil Holcombe, an Englishman who desireth
to travel to the Touat Oasis.  The Director of Fate turned the bridle of
my horse towards thee and allowed me to hear the bells of thy camels
from afar; the Guide of the Reins of Destiny moved my intention so that
I came hither to meet thee.  Behold!  I bear unto thee a letter from our
mutual friend, General Malezieux, Chief of Division."

The name of that high official caused him to open his keen dark eyes
wider, and, taking the letter from me, he quickly read it.  In Arabic my
friend the General greeted his brother Ali Ben Hafiz with strings of
salutations and references to the Prophet, and implored him to take
under his protection the adventurous Englishman.

When the old merchant had read it through twice, he slowly stroked his
patriarchal beard.  Then, looking up, he said in his own language--

"M'sieur Holcombe, be welcome to our shade.  Allah, the One Merciful, is
mighty: Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds, is wise.  He ordaineth that
although thou art an unbeliever, we should nevertheless be companions.
It giveth me pleasure to succour thee--but before all take salt with
us."

The order was given to halt, a tent was quickly pitched, and we took
salt and ate our kousskouss together, afterwards smoking our long
haschish pipes until the noon was far spent.  About five o'clock we
resumed our journey again over the barren plain, the venerable-looking
old Arab, in whom I found a most prayerful, pious, and entertaining
host, riding by my side.  The convoy of dark-faced Spahis, who,
picturesque in their scarlet burnouses, had viewed me with such
distrust, now regarded me as a distinguished guest, and were ready at
every moment to do my bidding.  To those who, like myself, have learned
in the desert to regard life steadily, nothing temporal seems of moment
when travelling by caravan, and our civilisation, of which we in Western
Europe pride ourselves, seems but a frivolous thing of yesterday.
Desert life to-day is the same as it was ten centuries ago; the same as
it will ever be.  Free and charming in its simplicity, yet with certain
terrors ever-present, it offers many attractions to those in search of
change and excitement.  Thus, with the fiery sunset flooding the
boundless wilderness, we wended our way due westward in the blood-red
track of the departing day.

When the last rays were fading, another halt was made, the mats were
spread, and Ali Ben Hafiz with his convoy and camel-drivers knelt, and,
turning their faces towards Mecca, repeated their evening prayer,
afterwards reciting with fervent devotion the Fatiha: "Praise be to
Allah, Lord of all creatures; the most merciful, King of the day of
Judgment, Thee do we worship, and of Thee do we beg assistance.  Direct
us in the Right Way, in the way of those to whom Thou hast been
gracious; not of those against whom Thou art incensed, nor of those who
go astray."

Then in the falling gloom we again moved on.  Slowly our camels plodded,
the rhythmic movement of their heads causing their bells to jingle, and
now and then an Arab would chant a weird Bedouin song, or goad on his
animals, administering heavy blows emphasised by sundry forcible
imprecations with frequent references to Eblis.

Old Ali--who was a native of Morocco and still acknowledged Mulai Hassan
as his ruler, although he lived under the French flag--asked me to
relate my history, and tell him of England and the Great White Queen;
therefore, as we rode together, I entertained him with descriptions of
my distant home, explaining to him our insular manners and customs,
until the bright moon rose and the stars twinkled like diamonds in the
cloudless vault of blue.  At last, having entered a wild ravine, where
some prickly acacias, dusty aloes, and patches of coarse hulfa grass
grew, under the shadow of the rocks we encamped for the night.  Our
kousskouss was cooked and eaten, our horses fed and watered at the well,
and while the Spahis were posted as sentinels to raise the alarm in the
event of a raid by any of the fierce marauding bands that constantly
prowl about that region, we wrapped ourselves in the ample folds of our
burnouses and rested our weary heads upon our saddles.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE OMEN OF THE CAMEL'S HOOF.

On over the barren sand-hills, always in the track of the setting sun,
each day passed much as its predecessor.  I was no stranger to Northern
Africa, for the wild, free life, unshackled by conventionalities, had a
fascination for me, and consequently I had accompanied caravans through
Tunis and Tripoli, and had wandered a good deal in Morocco.  In the
course of these journeys I had learned to love the Arabs, and had formed
the acquaintance of many powerful Sheikhs, several of whom I now counted
among my most faithful and devoted friends.  Indeed, it was to join one
of them, the head of the Tedjehe-N'ou-Sidi, that I was now on my way
south to Zamlen, in the Afelele region.

After three years among the True Believers, I had at last overcome most
of the difficulties of language, and could converse with them in their
own tongue.  It may have been this which commended itself to pious old
Ali Ben Hafiz, for throughout our journey he was particularly gracious,
though he bored me sometimes with his constant objurgatory remarks
regarding Infidels in general and myself in particular.  Once in
exuberance of spirits I so far forgot myself as to whistle a popular
English air, and although we were excellent friends, he reprimanded me
so severely that I am not likely to forget that among the followers of
the Prophet whistling is forbidden.

One morning, while riding together soon after dawn, he surprised me by
suddenly observing in a grave tone--

"Thou art young and of good stature.  It surpriseth me that thou dost
not return to thine own people and take a wife from among them."

"Why should I marry?"  I asked, laughing.  "While I am alone, I wander
at my own inclination; if I married, my actions would be ruled by
another."

"Because ere the sun had risen this morning a camel had placed its hoof
upon thy spittle," he answered, looking at me with his keen serious eyes
that age had not dimmed.  "It is an omen. _'Ty-ib bi'chire Allah
yosallimak_!"

"An omen!  Of what?"  I asked.

"Of impending evil."

"But we English believe not in superstition; neither have we witches nor
sorcerers," I replied, smiling.

"Infidels have no need of them," he retorted, angrily.  "Only True
Believers will behold the great lote tree, or quench their thirst at
Salsabil, Allah be thanked!"

"But this strange omen--what particular misfortune is it supposed to
presage?"  I inquired eagerly, astonished at the vehemence of his
denunciation.

"Hearken, and take heed," he said, earnestly.  "Thou art young, and as
yet no woman hath captivated thee.  Do I give utterance to the truth?"

"Yes," I answered.  "As yet I have never been enmeshed."

"Then beware!  There will be a day when thy life will be lightened by
the rays of a woman's face, rivalled only by the sun.  Her eyes will be
brilliant as the gazelle's, her cheeks will bear the bloom of the peach,
and her lips will be sweet as the fresh-blown rose.  In those eyes the
love-light will flash, those cheeks will blush at thine approach, and
those lips will meet with passion thy caress.  Then remember the words
of Ali Ben Hafiz.  Remember the Omen of the Camel's Hoof!"  We rode on
together in silence for some minutes.  I was pondering over his strange
words.

"On the auspicious day when I meet this paragon of beauty which you
prophesy, how am I to act?"  I asked presently.

"Act?" he cried.  "Do nothing.  Return not her caresses.  Cast her from
thee even though she be one of the houris of Paradise, and--"

"Will she be a Moor, an Arab, or one of mine own people?"  I inquired,
interrupting him.

"Ask me not.  I am no prophet, though this is not the first time I have
seen similar cases to thine.  The Omen of the Camel's Hoof hath been
revealed--and it is fatal."

"Fatal?"  I cried in alarm.  "What dost thou mean?  Am I to die?"

"It resulteth in death--sometimes.  It is always fatal to love."

"Have others succumbed, then?"  I asked.

"Yes, alas!" he said, with knit brows and a curiously thoughtful
expression.  "One case occurred in mine own family.  My nephew, who was
of about the same age as thou art, had the distinctive mark between the
eyes, the same as thou hast upon thy countenance.  After the last Fast
of Ramadan, he took the caravan of his father and journeyed for one moon
west to Duera, in Morocco.  Before the sun had risen on the last day of
Doul Hadja, the camel he was riding, alas! stepped upon his spittle.
His tent-man, a Biskri well versed in anthroposcopy, told him of the
ominous warning, but he ridiculed it, saying that Kamra Fathma, the
daughter of the cadi at Bona, was already betrothed unto him, and that
he could never look with admiration upon another woman's face.  The Omen
had been revealed; its warning was, alas! disregarded."

"What was the result?"  I inquired, rather alarmed at my friend's
extraordinary prophetic demeanour.

"Ah, the result?  It was fatal!  A week later he who scoffed at the
humble tent-man's words crossed the Figuig into the land of our lord the
Sultan.  There, at Sidi Mumen, he chanced to pass the daughter of the
Basha on foot.  An ill wind blew aside her veil, and he gazed for a
second upon her uncovered face.  The lines of her fatal beauty were in
that instant graven deeply upon his heart, and he loved her violently,
casting aside the pretty Kamra, his betrothed at Bona.  Tarrying long
near the woman who had fascinated him, he succeeded in earning the good
graces of the Basha, and at length married her."

He paused, and, drawing a long breath, pulled his burnouse more tightly
around his shoulders.

"Well, if he succeeded in marrying her, the Omen of the Camel's Hoof
could not have been fatal to love," I argued.

"But it was!" he replied quickly.  "After his marriage, he remained in
Sidi Mumen, and set up a large house, and his wife had many slaves."

"Was he not happy?"

"For three moons, and then--"

"And then?"

"The prophecy was fulfilled.  He took a cup of tea too much.  [An
expression used by the Moors, poison being invariably administered in
tea.]  The woman who had entranced him and obtained his money was verily
a daughter of Eblis.  She poisoned him!"

"Horrible!"  I said.  "I hope mine will not be a similar fate."

The old man, who, before setting out on his journey, had without doubt
promised a feast to his favourite marabout in return for the latter's
all-powerful prayers for his safety, shrugged his shoulders, but
answered nothing.

CHAPTER THREE.

ENTRAPPED.

The curiously prophetic utterances of Ali Ben Hafiz caused me to
reflect.  I knew much of Moslem superstition,--in fact, I had collected
many of the strange beliefs of the Arabs, Moors, and Koulouglis, with
the intention of including them in a book I was writing,--but this
extraordinary _avant-coureur_ of evil was new to me.  During the blazing
day, as we toiled on over the sun-baked plain, again and again I
recalled his ominous words.  The prophecy made me feel uncomfortable.
Somehow, try how I would, I could not rid myself of the thought that
some untoward event would ere long occur.

In this record of facts I am compelled to speak briefly of myself.  Life
had indeed been a strange series of ups and downs.  Being left an
orphan, I had early in life imbibed the reckless Bohemianism of the
Quartier Latin, and my later years had been almost equally divided
between the conventionalities of London and Paris and the wild, free
life of the Bedouins of Northern Africa.  Truth to tell, civilisation,
with its hollow shams and its _decollete_ and frock-coated _beau monde_,
had no charm for me.  The leaden skies of London and the glitter and
artificiality of Paris were alike hateful.  I only enjoyed happiness
when, attired in haick and slippers, I sat cross-legged with the people
of Al-Islam, studying their grave, interesting characteristics, and
perfecting my knowledge of that most wonderful of languages, Arabic.

Fettered no longer by the shackles of Society, I wandered, explored, and
studied, the reason of this restlessness being most likely due to the
fact that I had never gazed upon a woman with thoughts of love.  The
Bohemianism of the Seine-bank had distorted my views of life, so that I
regarded woman as a heartless coquette, and perhaps had become cynical,
even misanthropic.  Therefore, on thinking over old Ali's warning, I
grew at length to regard it as a mere superstition of the mystic Moslem,
and succeeded at last in dismissing it from my mind.

The blazing day wore on, and was succeeded by a glorious evening.  We
were in that wild, inhospitable region known as the Adjemor, about
midway between the little Arab settlement of El Biodh and the palms of
Ain-el-Redjem.  Away on the misty horizon the rising ground of the great
plateau of Tademait was tinged with orange and gold, but as my fellow
wanderers knelt upon their carpets, cast dust over their feet, and,
salaaming, droned forth passages of the Saba in a monotone, the deep
well of the west was still ablaze with crimson and silver.  It was a bad
sign, for the thin haze which hung upon the ground warned us that ere
long we should be overwhelmed by one of the terrors of the desert--the
sandstorm.  Its stifling clouds of whirling sand might sweep down upon
us immediately, or might not reach us for twelve or fourteen hours; but
we were all aware that assuredly it must come, therefore, before
throwing ourselves down to rest, we took necessary precautions to ensure
our safety.

Alone in my tent, I lay unable to sleep, for before the sirocco the heat
always becomes unbearable.  The dead silence of the wilderness was only
broken by the champing of the camels and the jingle of the single Spahi,
who, mounting guard over us, marched slowly up and down, his footsteps
sounding muffled in the sand.  Through the open door of the tent I could
see how clear and bright was the night, how brilliantly the big moon of
the East shone white over the desert, and for a long time I lay thinking
of home and of the strange words of Ali, until sleep at length came to
my aching eyes.

Loud shouting and rifle-shots rapidly exchanged awakened me.  For a
moment I was dazed by the weird, exciting scene.  White-robed figures on
horseback tearing past my tent were firing their long-barrelled guns,
and our men were repelling the assault vigorously with their
Winchesters.

We were being attacked by a band of marauders; I knew it would be a
fight to the death!

Grasping my revolver, I sprang to my feet and rushed forth.  As I did
so, a gigantic Arab barred my passage.  The fierce, dark-faced fellow
had just swung himself from his horse, and in his sinewy hand there
gleamed a long curved knife.

In a second we had closed in deadly embrace.  Clutching me by the
throat, he forced me backwards, at the same moment uttering a curse and
raising the keen blade above his head.  For a second it was poised in
mid air, but quick as thought I managed to wrench away my right hand,
and, bringing it across my breast, fired my revolver full into his dark,
sinister face.

With a cry he staggered.  The knife fell, but I evaded it, and,
gradually loosening his hold upon my throat, he stumbled backwards, and,
tottering, sank heavily to the ground.

Leaving him, I rushed out to assist my companions, for the rattle of
musketry was incessant, and bullets were singing about us in a manner
that was particularly disconcerting.  Dashing forward, I saw our Spahis
had apparently been taken completely by surprise, four of them having
fallen dead, and two were lying near, writhing under the agony of their
wounds.

The shouting and firing were deafening, the flashing of guns shedding a
lurid glare, while, to add to the horror of those moments, the storm had
burst upon us, choking clouds of sand enveloping both enemy and friend.

Once only, amid the whirling cloud of dust and smoke, I caught sight of
the hospitable old merchant.  Two of the robbers had seized him, and
were securing his arms and legs with cords, when suddenly he turned upon
them with the ferocity of a tiger, and, drawing a knife from his crimson
sash, plunged it into the heart of one of his captors.

The man staggered and fell backwards dead, like a stone.

A second later there was a bright flash from a rifle fired by a man near
me, and Ali Ben Hafiz, throwing up his arms with a cry, fell forward
over the corpse of the man he had killed.  Just at that moment I felt
myself seized from behind.  Turning quickly, intending to use my
revolver, the weapon was snatched from my hand, and a cord with a noose
passed quickly over my head.  I fought hard; but how long can one fight
against a score?  The flash of the guns illumined for a second the faces
of the fierce bandits into whose power I had unfortunately fallen.  All
were big, desperate-looking Bedouins of the tribe of the Ennitra, who
live away south in the Ahaggar region, and whose men, reputed to be the
worst of desperadoes, were the terror of the caravans.

While they forced my hands behind me and secured them, my brave
companions, the Spahis and camel-drivers, after making a most desperate
resistance, were one after another shot down before my eyes.  The band
outnumbered us by six to one, and already the camels, with Ali's
valuable packs of textile fabrics, arms and ammunition, had been
captured and driven off.

"Devils!"  I cried, as I watched the sickening slaughter.  "Why not
complete thine hideous work and shoot me also?"

"Behold! he hath a pale face!" cried one of my captors, peering into my
eyes and showing his white teeth as he grinned viciously.  "See! he is
not an Arab!  He is a dog of an Infidel!"

"Kill him! kill him!" cried one of the others, excitedly brandishing a
knife.  "His touch will contaminate.  The Roumi will bring the curse of
Sajin upon us!"

His words and threatening attitude alarmed me, for, remembering that
these men were of the sect of the Aissawa, the wildest of the fanatics
of Al-Islam, I knew they were not likely to show much mercy to one who
had not embraced their religion or gone through their hideous rites.
Whoever Sidi ben Aissa, the patron saint of this strange sect, might
have been, he certainly numbers among his followers some of the worst
malefactors of Algeria.  Any Mohammedan may be initiated into the
Aissawa.  He makes a pilgrimage to Mequinez, in Morocco, calls upon the
representative of Sidi ben Aissa's family, to whom he offers prayers and
money.  This over, the priest blows upon him, and the devotee arises and
departs, firmly believing that however many venomous snakes may bite
him, no harm will befall him.

Although in a frenzy of excitement over their terrible work of
slaughter, they seemed in no mood to kill me.  As the sandstorm abated,
and dawn spread, the scene was awful.  The whole of our men had, I saw,
been ruthlessly massacred, and I alone remained the sole survivor.

Breathlessly I stood, my arms bound so tightly as to cause me pain,
awaiting my fate.  How, I wondered, would it end?  Presently, when the
contents of our camels' packs had been cursorily inspected, I was tied
to a mule, and dragged on over the desert in the direction of the rising
sun.  Through the long hot day I was forced to trudge wearily onward
into that region of the Ahaggar where no Bedouins dare penetrate.
Jeering, they refused my request for water to moisten my parched throat,
and it was not until long after noon that they tossed me a handful of
dates to satisfy my hunger.

Just before sundown we came upon an oasis where the palms grew high, and
there came out to meet us a dirty, ferocious rabble, shouting,
gesticulating, and rejoicing that the raid had been successful.  My
captors were cheered again and again, while I, as an unbeliever, was
cuffed and spat upon.  Between two tall bronzed ruffians I was led
straightway among the scattered tents to the Sheikh of the marauders,
whom I afterwards learned was Hadj Absalam, the notorious outlaw upon
whose head a price had long been set by the French Government.

He was a sinister-looking old man, with a pair of black, gleaming eyes,
a long grey beard, and an ugly cicatrix across his tawny forehead.  As
his name denoted, he had made the pilgrimage earlier in life, but the
criminal was stamped in every line of his face, and I could quite
believe him capable of the many barbarous cruelties attributed to him.

The marauders explained how they had attacked and captured our caravan,
and, finding that I was an Englishman, they had spared my life and
brought me to him.

The robber Sheikh of the Ennitra heard all without removing his long
pipe from his lips or betraying the least excitement.  Suddenly turning
his piercing eyes upon me, he exclaimed--

"Thou art an unbeliever that Allah hath delivered into our hands for
punishment.  Verily, Allah hath cursed the Infidels, and hath prepared
for them in Al-Hawiyat a fierce fire wherein they shall remain for ever.
They shall find no patron or defender.  Death by the knife is too
merciful an end for dogs of thy mongrel breed."

"But, my father," I exclaimed, "I have not offended against thee.  I am
merely journeying here to study thy tongue."

"Silence, Infidel!" he roared.  "Speak not to Allah's chosen.  Thine
accursed body shall be racked by the torture ere thou goest unto the
Kingdom of Shades."

Then, turning to the men who held me, he said, "Take him out among the
rocks and let the punishment commence."

Heedless of my vigorous protests, I was hurried along, followed by the
ragged crowd of excited fanatics, who still jeered and spat upon me,
until we reached the edge of the oasis, which, as I afterwards learned,
was named the Igharghar.  It was die game, or die coward.  I remembered
the strange Omen of the Camel's Hoof!

At a spot where great grey rocks cropped out of the sand, my captors
halted, and, forcing me to the ground, lashed me to the trunk of a date
palm.  The rope was passed under my arms and fastened to the base of the
trunk, leaving about four feet of slack rope between my head and the
tree.  Then, my feet being bound, they drove a stake into the ground and
tied them to it.  Thus I lay stretched upon the ground, and, struggle as
I would, I was unable to move.  The cords sank into my flesh, and the
crowd around me laughed and shouted when they saw my face distorted by
pain.

I knew no mercy would be shown me by Hadj Absalam's band, who delighted
in cruelty to their victims, and whose religious rites were practised
amid scenes of horror and bloodshed.  Yet if they meant to simply leave
me there to starve and die under the blazing sun, why did they secure me
in this fashion?  They could have maimed my feet and hands, and there
would have been no need of this elaborate preparation.

A sudden shout caused me to try and look up.  Several men were running
towards me, their white burnouses flowing behind them.  One of them
carried in his hand a little stick with a noose on the end, and in the
noose there writhed a large black asp, one of the deadly denizens of the
rocks.

The sight froze my blood.  I knew that they meant to kill me.

Amid the wild excitement of the crowd, who had now gone half mad at the
prospect of seeing an Infidel done to death, two long thin thongs of
mule-skin were placed through the skin and muscles of the snake, close
to its tail.  The serpent squirmed under the pain, but his head was held
fast in the loop.

Within four feet of my face another stake was driven into the ground,
and to this the loose ends of the thongs were fastened.  The Arabs
sprang back.  The snake was free from the noose, but bound fast by the
thong through its tail.

My face was directly before it; yet I could not move!  In an instant the
snake was in a half coil, with its bead-like eyes fixed upon mine.

As I held my breath in that brief second, the warning of Ali Ben Hafiz
again flashed through my mind.  The sweat stood upon my brow.  The crowd
pressing around me became hushed in expectancy.  To have been murdered
with my fellow-travellers would have been far preferable to this
torture.

The horror of that moment was awful.

The serpent, enraged by pain, raised its flat head ready to strike.  I
set my teeth and closed my eyes, waiting to feel its deadly fangs upon
my cheek.

Another instant, and its venom would be coursing through my veins!

CHAPTER FOUR.

A VEILED FACE.

But my cruel captors intended to torture me; to delay my death as long
as possible.

Like a flash the head of the gliding serpent shot out.  The thong
withstood its spring.  It fell two inches short of my face.  A tiny drop
of liquid spurted upon my temple and ran down my cheek.  It was the
venom from the fangs that failed to reach!  The Arabs roared with
laughter.

But they were wasting time.  From their conversation I gathered that a
squadron of Spahis were in search of them to punish them for the many
robberies and murders they had committed, and that they were moving at
dawn towards the Tanezrouft, a waterless desert that has never been
wholly explored by Europeans.  They had to examine the packs of Ali Ben
Hafiz's camels, so, after laughing and jeering at me for some time, they
teased the asp, and then returned to their encampment.

Through the long brilliant evening I lay there alone, the snake's head
playing before my eyes, more of the venom being spat into my face.

The sun at last disappeared in a blaze of crimson, and the clouds
covered the heavens.

The snake had learned that it could not reach my face.  It lay coiled at
the foot of the stake watching.  For a while longer it struck each time
I moved my head, but presently it lay again in its sullen coil.  The
strain of holding my head back, back, until the cords fairly cracked,
was awful.  How long, I wondered, would it be before my mind would give
way and madness relieve me from this deadly terror?

Darkness crept on.  Above the low Iraouen hills the moon rose, and shone
full upon my face.  The beating of _derboukas_, the playing of
_kanoons_, and sounds of singing and dancing made it plain that the
marauders had discovered the great value of the merchandise they had
stolen, and were making merry.  Slowly the moments dragged.  Time after
time I struggled to get free, but in vain.  The outlaws had bound me in
such a manner that the more I struggled the deeper sank the cords into
my flesh.  Presently I heard shuffling footsteps, and, looking up, saw
approaching two of the villainous men who had assisted to bind me.  One
of them carried a pitcher of water he had procured from the well.

"Take thy knife and kill me," I cried.  "Death is better than this
horrible torment."

They both laughed derisively, and, bending, poured water upon the rope
that held me and upon the serpent's thongs.

"Thou wilt be claimed by Eblis soon enough," one of the men replied,
grimly.

"My throat is dry.  Give me a drop of water--one mouthful--that I may
quench this terrible thirst consuming me," I implored.

But again they only laughed, and, flinging the water from the battered
copper pitcher upon the sand, the man said, "Thou art accursed of Allah,
and our father hath decreed that thou shalt die."

"Then kill me! kill me!"  I cried in agony.  "I am going mad."

"That is part of thy punishment," replied the other man, unconcernedly
shrugging his shoulders and walking away, followed by his laughing
companion.  My heart sank within me.

The cool wind that had sprung up revived me, and I felt the pangs of
hunger.  Still before me I saw those coils and that flat head.  In the
white moonlight I could distinguish the snake's tongue darting out; he
was preparing for another spring.

He struck, but still he could not reach.  An inch more, and his venomous
fangs would have buried themselves in my cheek!

I rubbed my face in the sand to clear it of the horrible poison now
thickening upon it.

I must have lapsed into unconsciousness for a long time, but on awaking,
all was silent as the grave.  The nomads of the Ennitra, who had long
been hunted in vain by the Algerian soldiers, were asleep.  I felt the
strain of the rope growing more painful.  I had been pulling back on it
with all my force, but now I felt a counter-pull that was slowly drawing
me towards the asp and death.

Why did I not push my face towards the serpent and end the torture?  I
had a presentiment that I should die from the moment I had fallen into
the hands of these robbers.  I knew that I must succumb to hunger and
thirst, even if the asp did not reach me.  But life is always sweet.  I
could not bring myself to die.  My mad brain refused to order the
muscles to meet the reptile.

The rope pulled harder.  Then I knew.  The water those brutes had poured
upon it was shrinking it!  The distance between my face and the fangs of
my black enemy was gradually being lessened.  An inch more would mean
death!

I dug my toes into the ground.  I pulled back until the rope cut deeply
into my flesh and the blood flowed.  The cords that bound me were
shortening!

Water had also been poured upon the thongs that held the snake.  The
mule-hide swelled and stretched, while the hempen rope shrank.

The snake tried to crawl away.  The strings in its flesh held it back.
The pain enraged it, and its head shot forth once again.  Its tongue
came within half an inch of my forehead!

Closing my eyes, I must have once more lapsed into a state of
half-consciousness, knowing that the thongs which held the reptile were
stretching, and that in a few minutes death would release me from the
torture.

Suddenly the _frou-frou_ of silk greeted my ears, and a second later I
became aware of someone leaning over me.

"Hist!  Peace be upon thee!" exclaimed a soft voice in tuneful Arabic.
"_Lissa fih wakt_!"  ("There is yet time.") The face bending over me was
closely veiled, but above the _adjar_ a pair of bright sparkling eyes
peered into mine, while across the white forehead hung rows of golden
sequins.  I was amazed.  Whether my strange visitant were young or old I
could not tell, but her splendid eyes had a curious fascination in them
such as I had never before experienced.

Her arm, bare to the shoulder, was white and well rounded; on her slim
wrists were heavy Arab bracelets of gold and silver, studded with
jacinths and turquoises, and in her hand was a long thin knife, the
blade of which flashed in the moonlight.

"What art thou?"  I gasped.  "Who art thou?"

"Thy friend," she replied, quietly.  "Make not a sound, for my life as
well as thine is at stake.  See!  I cut the cords that bind thee!" and
so saying, she severed my bonds quickly and deftly with her curved
dagger, the jewelled scabbard of which hung upon her girdle.

Half dazed, but finding both hands and feet free, I jumped up, and,
stepping aside from the spot where the serpent darted forth, stood
before my mysterious deliverer.

She was of medium height, slim and graceful.  The hideous haick and
baggy white trousers which always shroud the women of the Arabs when out
of doors were absent, for apparently she had stolen from her tent, and,
with the exception of the flimsy veil across her face, she was still in
her harem dress.  Set jauntily upon her head she wore the usual dainty
little skull-cap of velvet thick with gold and seed pearls, her
_serroual_ of pale blue China silk were drawn tight midway between the
knee and ankle, her rich velvet zouave was heavily trimmed with gold,
and her bare feet were thrust into tiny velvet slippers.  A wide sash of
silk encircled her waist, and the profusion of gold bangles on her
ankles had been tied together so that they should not jingle as she
walked.

"_Al'hamdu lillah daki lakom_!" she exclaimed solemnly, which translated
meant, "Praise be unto Allah, praying for thee."

"Allah be praised!"  I responded fervently.  "Thou art my deliverer.
How can I ever sufficiently thank thee?"

Shrugging her shoulders with infinite grace, she replied, "Thanks are
not necessary.  The knowledge that thou hast escaped a horrible death is
all the reward I require."  She spoke in low musical tones, and her
accents were those of a town-dweller rather than of a nomad of the
Sahara.

"But why dost thou run such risks in order to deliver me--an Infidel?"
I asked, recollecting that if detected, little mercy would be shown her
by that barbarous fanatical band.

"I watched thee brought before the Sheikh, and I heard him condemn thee
to the torture.  For hours I have been awake thinking, and at last
determined to save thee.  Come, make no noise, but follow."

Cautiously she moved away, taking care to keep in the shadow of the
rocks.  So graceful was her carriage, so supple was her figure, that, as
I walked behind her, I felt convinced that she must be young.  Once she
halted, and, turning her splendid eyes upon me, said--

"Thou wilt forgive my people, wilt thou not?  I make no excuse for their
barbarities, I only ask thee to forgive."

"Thou hast saved my life," I replied.  "How can I refuse any request
thou makest?"

She laughed a short, silvery laugh, and, turning, sped on again, her
little slippers coming to sad grief over the rough stones.  Presently I
stopped her, and, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder, said--

"May I not gaze upon thy face for one brief moment?"

"I cannot permit," she cried, shrinking from me.  "Remember, thou art an
Infidel!"

Her answer was a stinging rebuff.

"None of thy people are here to witness," I urged.  "Let me for one
second unclasp thy _adjar_ and gaze upon thy countenance;" and at the
same time I made a movement as if to tear away the tantalising veil that
concealed her features.

"No! no!" she cried in alarm, stepping back and covering her face with
both hands.  "Thou must not!  Thou shalt not!  This, then, is thy reward
to one who has risked so much to save thee?" she said reproachfully.

"Forgive me," I exclaimed quickly, dropping upon my knee and raising her
soft, delicate hand to my lips.  But she drew it away firmly, as if my
touch stung her.

"Rise," she said, rather harshly.  "I forgive thee, of course, but there
is no time for courtesies.  Come."

Passing round to the other side of the rock, I found tethered in the
centre of a patch of tamarisk a splendid Arab horse with handsome
trappings.

When she approached, the animal pawed, rubbing its nose upon her hand.

"It is mine," she said, "and I give it to thee in the hope that Allah
may guard thee, and that thou wilt get away to the Atlas in safety.  I
saddled it with mine own hands, so in the bags thou wilt find both food
and drink.  On leaving here, keep straight over yonder hill, then spur
with all speed always towards the east.  Before three suns have set,
thou wilt rest on the Oasis of Meskam, where are encamped the Spahis who
are in search of us.  Thou wilt be safe with them, although thou wilt
not inform them of our whereabouts?"

"No, I promise to preserve thy secret," I said.

Dawn was spreading quickly, and in the grey light I could see more
distinctly the part of her countenance left uncovered.

Grasping her slim, white hand, with its fingers laden with roughly-cut
gems, I looked earnestly into her magnificent eyes, and again asked, "Is
thy decision utterly irrevocable?  May I not look for once upon thy
face?  Think, I have been delivered from a horrible death, yet to
recognise my deliverer again will be impossible!"

"You and I are strangers," she replied slowly.  "Thou art a European,
while I am a homeless wanderer of the desert.  If thine eyes do not gaze
upon my countenance, I shall have committed one sin the less, and thou
wilt never be troubled by any recollections.  Memories are apt to be
tiresome sometimes, and it is written that the True Believer is--"

"With me thy memory will always remain that of a brave, tender, but
mysterious woman, to whom I owe my life."

"That is how I wish thee to think of me.  Perhaps I too may remember
thee sometimes, though it would be sinful for me to do so.  What is thy
name?"

"Cecil Holcombe."

She repeated the four syllables with a pretty Arab accent.

"And thine?"  I asked, still holding her white hand and gazing into her
eyes.

She hesitated.  I felt she was trembling.  Her breath came quickly.

"Mount, and go," she said.  "I--I have risked too much.  Besides, thou
mayest not discover who I really am.  It would be _fatal_!"

"But thy name?"  I urged.  She seemed bent upon preserving her
incognita, and I was growing impatient.  That she was lovely I felt
sure.  No face could be ugly with those magnificent eyes.  "Surely thou
wilt not withhold from me thy name?"

She was silent.  Her slim, bejewelled fingers closed over mine with a
slight pressure as she sighed.  Then, lifting her eyes, she replied--

"I am called Zoraida."

"The daughter of whom?"

"Daughter of the Sun," she replied, smiling.

"Then thou wilt not tell me the name of thy father?"  I said,
disappointedly.

She shook her head, replying, "No.  To thee I am only Zoraida.  My
father's name is of no concern."

"And may I not carry with me some little souvenir of this strange
meeting?"  I asked.

Slowly she drew a quaint, old-fashioned ring from her finger and placed
it upon my hand, laughing the while, saying--

"When thou art far beyond the mountains, this will remind thee how near
thou hast been to death;" adding anxiously, "Now go, I beg.  See! the
sun will soon break forth!  Do not tarry another instant--for my sake!"

"Zoraida, shall we never meet again?"  I asked desperately, for the
mystery surrounding her and her strange words caused me to forget the
danger of lingering.  "Art thou never in Algiers or Oran, or any of the
towns by the sea?"

"Sometimes in Algiers.  But very, very seldom.  Yet even if I were, we
could not meet.  The Koran forbids."

"When wilt thou visit Algiers again?"

"Perhaps in the month of Rbi-el-tani.  Then I go to the koubba of
Sidi-Djebbar."

"On what day?"  I asked, eagerly.

"Probably on the first Al-go'omah," she replied.  "But why dost thou
ask?  To attempt to meet again would only bring disgrace upon me--
perhaps death.  Thou knowest full well how strict is our religion, and
how terrible is the punishment meted out to those of my sex who hold
converse with the Roumis."

"Yes, alas!"  I said.  "Nevertheless, we shall meet again, I feel
certain, because we--"

"I make no promise.  But if ever we chance to cross each other's path,
thou wilt not compromise me in the eyes of my people?" she urged, with
terrible earnestness.

"Never," I replied, fervently.  "None shall ever know of our meeting."

"Now mount and go, or we shall be discovered," she begged, in evident
alarm.  "Remember the directions I have given thee, and know that thou
hast my blessing."

With a last look into her big, wonderful eyes, I raised the tiny white
hand I had held and kissed it.  Then, vaulting into the saddle, I
uttered profound thanks for my deliverance, and bade her adieu.

"_Slama_!" she cried, standing erect with both bare arms outstretched
towards me.  "_Allah Iselemeck.  Slama_!"

And digging my heels into the splendid Ku-hai-lan horse she had given
me, I shot away like an arrow, and rode for life towards the sand-hills
of the Iraouen that looked black and bare against the streak of saffron
dawn in the sky beyond.

CHAPTER FIVE.

ZORAIDA'S PLEDGE.

Over the dunes, regardless of the dust and heat, I rode, well knowing
that my life and that of my fair rescuer depended upon my successful
escape.

Glancing back now and then, I strained my eyes in the direction of the
oasis, half expecting to see a party of Arabs with their long guns held
aloft bearing down upon me; but not a living thing was in sight.  Again
I was alone in that vast, silent wilderness.

About noon, at a spot where a few dry plants and tufts of hulfa grass
struggled to maintain a miserable existence, I dismounted in order to
rest my tired horse, and eagerly searched the saddle-bag.  It had been
packed by the mysterious Zoraida herself, and as I drew forth one
package after another, I saw how thoughtful she had been.  In addition
to dates, figs, Moorish biscuits, and a little skin full of water, I
drew from the bottom of the bag a bulky Arab purse.  Roughly made of
crimson leather, ornamented with a crescent and star embroidered in
silver thread, it had evidently been well worn.  Opening it, I was
astonished at finding it full of French napoleons, while in the centre
compartment, secured by a tiny flap, was a little scrap of paper.  Upon
it, traced in pencil in a hurried, uncertain hand, were a number of
Arabic characters.

For a long time I puzzled over them.  Some of the characters were
illegible, and, being run into one another, they appeared to have been
written in the dark.  At length, however, I succeeded in satisfying
myself as to their purport, for they read as follows:--

"Know, O Unbeliever, that thou art welcome to this poor assistance that
I can offer thee.  Thou, a stranger from far beyond the sea, may some
day be able to render assistance to the unhappy woman who severed thy
bonds.  Thou art named _Amin_ (`the Faithful').  It is by that name that
thou wilt be remembered if ever we should chance to meet.  Allah, the
One Merciful, is gracious, and will guide thee--praised be His name."

This strange note caused me a good deal of thought, as, sitting upon a
stone, I ate the dates my mysterious rescuer had provided for my
sustenance.  Not content with releasing me from certain death, she, a
member of a notorious robber band, had given me her purse!  Doubtless
she was well aware that her people had taken from me everything I
possessed, and as reparation had placed some of her own money in the
bag.  The note, however, was curious, because it made plain the reason
why this mysterious Queen of the Desert had taken so much trouble to
accomplish my release.  She was unhappy, and I could assist her!  How?
Who was she? what was she?  I wondered.  Visions of neglect and
ill-treatment were immediately conjured up before my eyes; for woman in
Algeria is not better off than in other Oriental countries.  The victim
of a stupid and brutalising social code founded on a religion whose
theory is pure, but whose practice is barbarous, she is always contemned
or maltreated, a toy to the wealthy, a beast of burden to the poor.

What, I mused, could be the cause of Zoraida's infelicity?  Was she, as
the daughter of the murderous old Sheikh, leading the usual wretched
existence of Arab girls, neglected by her mother and relegated to a
corner of the harem in the charge of some ugly old negress?  Every Arab
woman looks upon a son as a blessing and a daughter as an incubus;
therefore it is little wonder that the life of the daughters of wealthy
Moors and Arabs is a truly pitiable one.  But on due reflection I saw
how improbable it was that an outlaw like Hadj Absalam, who, being
continually hunted by the French soldiers sent out to capture him, and
compelled to be ever on the move in the most inaccessible spots, would
cause his family to travel with him.  In case of a sudden attack by the
Spahis or Turcos, the paraphernalia of a harem would considerably hamper
his movements; and that he could be exceedingly active and show serious
fight had already been proved times without number.

No.  A man of his stamp would never be troubled with his daughter while
bent on plunder and murder.  There were, therefore, but two other
suppositions.  Zoraida was either a captive, or Hadj Absalam's wife.
This caused me to remember that if a captive she certainly would have
endeavoured to fly with me; while the possession of horses and money,
her refusal to allow me to gaze upon her face, and her agitation when I
pressed her hand to my lips, all pointed to one fact, namely, that my
mysterious deliverer, the woman who by her exquisite form and grace had
enchanted me, was none other than the wife of the brigand whose many
atrocious crimes had from time to time sent a shudder through the
readers of European newspapers.

Zoraida the wife of a thief and murderer!  No!  I could not bring myself
to believe it.  She was so young, with arms and hands so delicately
moulded and eyes so clear and wide open, that it seemed impossible that
she was actually wedded to a villain like Hadj Absalam.

Again I read through her note, carefully tracing each of the
hastily-scrawled characters.  Though ill-formed, it was not owing to
lack of education, for the vowels were marked in position correctly in
order to make it easier for me to translate.  As I held the paper in my
hand, it emitted a pleasant sensuous odour.  The perfume that clung to
it was geranium, the same sweet scent that had pervaded Zoraida when
with her keen knife she had bent and freed me from the poison of the
asp.

Sitting in the noonday sun, with my burnouse loosened and my arms
resting on my knees, that sweet odour brought back vividly the events of
the previous night, its horrors, its surprises, its joys.  Again I saw
Zoraida, gorgeous in her silk and gauze, a vision of loveliness, an
ideal of Arab beauty, ready to risk her life to save mine.  But it was
only for a second; then my memory became hazy again, and it all seemed
like some strange, half-remembered dream.

A desert lark rose near me and burst into joyous song.  My horse turned
its head slowly, and regarded me steadily for a few moments with his
large, serious eyes.  The utter loneliness in that arid waste, one of
the most dreary regions of the Sahara, was terribly depressing.

But on my finger was her ring.  The souvenir was by no means a valuable
one, yet so dearly did I prize it that I would not have given it in
exchange for anything that might be offered.  It was of a type common
among Arab women; heavy oxydised silver, and around it, in small Arabic
characters of gold, ran a text from the Koran, "Allah is gracious and
merciful."  Taking it off, I examined the inside, and found it quite
bright and smooth by constant wear.

Whatever my mysterious enchantress was, or whoever she would prove to
be, this was her pledge of trust.  And she, whose face I had not looked
upon, had named me "the Faithful!"

Yet as I sat thinking, grim, uncanny feelings of doubt and insecurity
filled my mind, for I remembered the strange words of Ali Ben Hafiz, and
the fateful Omen of the Camel's Hoof.

I had at last become enmeshed as the dead man had prophesied!

CHAPTER SIX.

THE MAN WITH A SECRET.

At sundown, three days after my escape from the Ennitra, my eyes
distinguished the palms of the Meskam Oasis standing at the foot of a
large sand-hill.  Zoraida had correctly informed me, for under feathery
trees, amid the luxuriant vegetation which one finds here and there in
the Sahara, the Spahis and Chasseurs d'Afrique had established an
advanced post.

In an hour I had entered the camp, and being taken before the French
commandant, related my story.  I told him of my journey with Ali Ben
Hafiz, of the attack, and of the massacre.

"_Bien_! and you alone escaped!" exclaimed the officer, a thorough
boulevardier, who sat before his tent with outstretched legs, lazily
puffing a cigarette.

"Yes," I replied.

He was as well groomed, and his moustache was as carefully waxed, as if
he were lounging outside the Cafe de la Paix.

"You were exceedingly fortunate," he exclaimed, rolling his cigarette
carelessly.  "Those who fall into Absalam's clutches seldom escape.
_Diable_! he's the most fierce cut-throat in all Algeria.  How did you
manage it?"

I hesitated.  Had I not promised Zoraida to preserve the secret of their
whereabouts for her sake?  If her people were to escape, I should be
compelled to make misleading statements.  At last I replied--

"They left me bound to a tree during the night, and I succeeded in
loosening the cords.  Finding a horse ready saddled, I jumped upon it
and rode away."  After I had uttered the words, I saw how lame was my
story.

"But how did you know we were here?" asked the commandant, blowing a
cloud of smoke from his lips, regarding me rather critically, and then
offering me a _chebli_ from his case.

"I had no idea," I replied.  "Seeing the palms from yonder ridge, I came
here to rest.  Had I not discovered the oasis, I should most likely have
perished."

"You certainly would not have lived many days," he said.  "The nearest
well is two hundred miles in any direction, therefore, if you had missed
this, the vultures would soon have made a meal off you.  But," he
continued, "describe to me where we are likely to find Hadj Absalam.  We
have been in search of him these three months, but, strangely enough,
his spies appear to watch all our movements, with the result that he
evades us in a manner simply marvellous."

I was silent for a moment, thinking.

"I have travelled for three days due north," I said, apparently
reflecting.  "If you send your men due south three days' journey, they
will come upon a small oasis.  This must be passed, and still south
again, a three hours' ride, there is a larger oasis on the further side
of a high ridge.  It is there that Hadj Absalam is taking his ease."

"Good!" exclaimed the officer, calling over a Chasseur who was
sauntering past with his hands in his pockets and ordering him to send
immediately a _sous-officier_, whom he named.

"It's a fine night," he said.  "We will start when the moon rises, and,
_mon Dieu_! it will not be our fault if we do not exterminate the band,
and bring the black-faced old scoundrel back with us.  The caravans will
never be safe until his head is in the _lunette_."

"But he may have moved by this time," I suggested.

"Then we will follow and overtake him," he replied, brushing some dust
from his braided sleeve.  "He shall not escape us this time.  When I was
quartered in Biskra, I knew old Hafiz well.  Though prejudiced against
France, he was always good to our men, poor old fellow."

"Yes," I said.  "Though a strict Moslem, he was most amiable and
generous."

At that moment a lieutenant of Chasseurs strode up and saluted.

"Victor," the commandant exclaimed, addressing him, "we leave at once,
with the whole of your _enfants d'enfer_, in search of Absalam, who is
three days' journey south.  This time we will pursue him till we run him
to earth.  The Spahis will remain;" and, turning to me, he added:
"M'sieur Holcombe, you are welcome to stay here also, if it pleases
you."

Thanking him, I assured him how deeply I appreciated his hospitality,
and then, having been handed over to the care of a _sous-officier_, I
was shown to the tent which the commandant ordered should be placed at
my disposal, while the Spahis--or _homards_, as they are termed in the
argot of the 19th Army Corps, because of their red burnouses--were busy
assisting their comrades to prepare for departure.

Our evening meal of thin onion soup, black bread, and rough, bitter
coffee having been disposed of, the Chasseurs, numbering about two
hundred, paraded with their horses, and were briefly but keenly
inspected by the officer in command, whose name I learned was Captain
Paul Deschanel.  The inspection over, the commandant addressed his men,
and the order was given to mount.  Then, amid the shouts of "_Vive les
Chasseurs!  A bas les Ennitra!  Vive la France_!" from the assembled
Spahis, the smart troop of cavalry, with the captain at their head,
galloped away into the moonlit desert, and were soon lost in the gloom.

As I sat watching the receding horsemen, and inwardly chuckling that by
sending them three days' journey into the country of the
Inemba-kel-Emoghri, Absalam and his people would be six days' journey
distant in an opposite direction, I was startled by a hand being laid
upon my shoulder.  Turning quickly, I found it was a Spahi.

"M'sieur is English, if I mistake not?" he inquired, with a pleasant
smile upon his swarthy but refined face.

"True," I replied.  "And, judging from your accent, you are not an Arab,
but a Parisian."

"Yes," he said, speaking in fairly good English.  "I have been in
England once.  If you care to spend an hour in my tent, I can offer you
absinthe and a cigarette.  That is about the extent of the hospitalities
of the oasis."

Thanking him for his invitation, I accompanied him, and a few moments
later we were sitting in the bright moonlight on a mat spread outside
his small tent.

"So you have been in England?"  I said presently, when he had told me
his name was Octave Uzanne.

"Yes," he replied, with a slight sigh, allowing the water to trickle
slowly into his absinthe, and drawing his scarlet burnouse closer about
him.  It was strange to hear English in this region of silence and
desolation.

"Is not the recollection of your visit pleasant?"  I asked.

"Ah! forgive me, m'sieur," he exclaimed quickly; "I can never hear your
tongue, or think of London, without becoming _triste_.  I associate with
your great gloomy city the saddest days of my life.  Had I not gone to
London, I should never have been here, leading the wild semi-barbarous
life in an Arab regiment of the Army of Africa.  We of the Spahis have a
saying, `_N'eveillez pas le chat qui dort_'--but sometimes--"

"It is a good adage, but we cannot always let our sorrows lie," I
interrupted sympathetically.  He had spoken with the accent of a
gentleman, and with the white light of the moon streaming upon his face,
I saw that he was about thirty years of age, with a countenance
clean-cut and noble, refined and somewhat effeminate.  His dark eyes
were deep-set and serious, yet in his face there was an expression of
genuine _bonhomie_.  The average Spahi is feared by Moor and Jew, by
Biskri and Koulougli, as the fiercest and most daring of soldiers.  In
drink he is a brute, in love he is passionate, in the saddle he is one
of the finest riders in the world; in the town he is docile and
obedient, fond of lounging in the cafes, idling over his eternal
cigarette; yet away in the desert, all his old instincts return; he is
an Arab again, and knows no measure either in attachment or in hatred.
A blow from his scabbard is the only payment when scouring the country
for food, a thrust of his sabre the only apology to those he insults,
while in the field, seated on his fleet horse, he rides like the wind,
and has the strength and courage of a lion.

This quiet, intellectual, bearded young Frenchman sitting cross-legged
on the mat beside me, was, I felt sure, a man with a past.  One of his
comrades came up and asked him a question in Arabic, to which he
replied, speaking the language of his regiment like a true-born Bedouin.
As we sipped our absinthe in silence for some minutes, watching the
camp settling down for the night, it struck me as curious that, instead
of being in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, he should be masquerading in
burnouse in an exclusively native regiment.

We began talking of England, but he was not communicative regarding
himself, and in reply to my question said--

"I desire to live here in the desert and to forget.  Each time we return
to Algiers, the glare and glitter of the European quarter unlocks the
closed page of my history.  It was because this wild roving beyond the
pale of civilisation was suited to my mood that I became a _homard_."

"Has your experience of life been so very bitter, then?"  I asked,
looking into the handsome face, upon which there was a shadow of pain,
and which was set off by the spotless white haick surrounding it.

"Bitter?--Ah!" he exclaimed, with a deep sigh.  "You see me now,
dragging out a wretched existence in this wilderness, exiled from my
home, with name, creed, nationality--everything changed."

"In order to conceal your identity?"  I hazarded.

"Yes, my past is erased.  Dead to those who knew me, I am now merely
known as Octave Uzanne.  I have tasted of life's pleasures, but just as
I was about to drink of the cup of happiness, it was dashed from me.  It
is ended.  All I have now to look for is--is a narrow bed in yonder
sand."

"My dear fellow," I exclaimed, "don't speak so despondently!  We all
have our little debauches of melancholy.  Cannot you confide in me?
Perhaps I might presume to give advice."

Silently and thoughtfully he rolled a cigarette between the fingers of
his bronzed hand, completing its manufacture carefully.

"_My_ story?" he said dreamily.  "Bah!  Why should I trouble you--a
stranger--with the wretched tragedy of my life?"

"Because I also have a skeleton in my cupboard, and I can sincerely
sympathise with you," I answered, tossing away my cigarette end and
lighting a fresh one.

Murmuring some words that I did not catch, he sipped his absinthe
slowly, and, passing his sinewy, sun-tanned hand wearily across his
forehead, sat immovable and silent, with his eyes fixed upon the dense
growth of myrtle bushes and prickly aloes before him.

Lighted candles stuck upon piles of rifles flickered here and there
among the tents, the feathery leaves of the palms above waved in the
night breeze like funeral plumes, the dry hulfa grass rustled and surged
like a summer sea; while ever and anon there came bursts of hearty
laughter from the Arab soldiers, or snatches of a _chanson eccentrique_
with rollicking chorus that had been picked up a thousand miles away in
the French cafes of Algiers.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY.

Octave Uzanne roused himself.

"My career has not been brilliant," he said slowly, and with bitterness.
"It is only remarkable by reason of its direful tragedy.  All of us
keep a debtor and creditor account with Fortune, and, _ma foi_! my
balance has always been on the wrong side.  Seven years ago I left the
university at Bordeaux with honours.  My father was a Senator, and my
elder brother was already an _attache_ at our Embassy in London.  In
order to study English, with the object of entering the diplomatic
service, I went over to reside with him, and it was he who, one night,
when leaving a theatre, introduced me to the goddess at whose shrine I
bowed--and worshipped.  We became companions, afterwards lovers.  Did
she love me?  Yes.  Though she was a butterfly of Society, though it is
through her that I am compelled to lead this life of desert-wandering, I
will never believe ill of her.  Never!  Violet Hanbury--why should I
conceal her name--had a--"

"Violet Hanbury?"  I cried, starting and looking to his face.  "Do you
mean the Honourable Violet Hanbury, daughter of Lord Isleworth?"

"The same," he replied quickly.  "What!--are you acquainted with her?"

"Well, scarcely," I answered.  "I--I merely know her by repute.  I have
seen her photograph in London shop-windows among the types of English
beauty."

I did not tell him all I knew.  Vi Hanbury, the beauty of a season, had
been mixed up in some unenviable affair.  The matter, I remembered, had
been enshrouded in a good deal of mystery at the time, but gossips'
tongues had not been idle.

"Ah!" he continued, enthusiastically; "I have no need then to describe
her, for you know how handsome she is.  Well--we loved one another; but
it was the old story.  Her parents forbade her to hold communication
with me for two reasons--firstly, because I was not wealthy, and
secondly, because they were determined that she should marry Henri de
Largentiere, a sallow, wizened man old enough to be her father, but who
had been Minister of Education in the Brisson Cabinet."

"Yes," I said; "the engagement was discussed a good deal in the clubs
after its announcement in the _Morning Post_."

"Engagement?  _Sacre_!" he exclaimed, with anger.  "She was snatched
from me and given to that old imbecile.  I was compelled to fly from her
and leave her, a pure and honest woman, at their mercy, because--
because--"

He paused for a moment.  His voice had faltered and the words seemed to
choke him.  Flinging away his cigarette viciously, he took a gulp from
the tin cup beside him, then, continuing, said--

"Because Violet's cousin, Jack Fothergill, who was one of her most
ardent admirers and had declared his love, was discovered one night dead
in his chambers in St James's Street--he had been murdered!"

"Murdered?"  I ejaculated.  "I don't remember hearing of it.  I must
have been abroad at the time."

"Yes," he said, speaking rapidly.  "Jack Fothergill was brutally done to
death with a knife that penetrated to the heart.  But that was not all:
the stiletto left sticking in the wound was discovered to be mine, a
gold pencil-case belonging to me was found upon the floor, and the valet
gave information to the police that at ten o'clock that night he had
opened the door to allow me to depart!"

In the moonlight his eyes had a fierce glitter in them and his bare
brown arms were thrust through the folds of his burnouse as he
gesticulated to emphasise his words.  There was a silence over the camp,
but the gay cafe-chantant song of Mdlle.  Duclerc, with which one of the
Spahis was entertaining his comrades, sounded shrill and tuneful in the
clear bright air--

  "Je jou' tres bien d' la mandoline,
  Ca fait moins d' train que le tambourin;
  Puisque quand on a la jambe fine,
  Ca permet d' la faire voir un brin."

"Strangely enough," my companion continued, after a pause; "I remained
that night with a friend, and judge my horror and amazement when next
morning I read in the newspapers of the tragedy, and learned that I was
suspected of the crime!  It was true that I had called upon the murdered
man just before ten o'clock, that the pencil-case had been in my pocket,
but of the murder I was entirely innocent.  Yet how could I prove an
alibi, especially when the doctor had given an opinion that death had
occurred at ten o'clock--the hour I left!  The police were searching for
me, but through that long and terrible day I remained in hiding.  Once
or twice I was tempted to give myself up and bravely face the awful
charge; but there was one thing which prevented this.  All interest in
life had been crushed from my heart by an announcement of two lines in
the same issue of the paper, stating that a marriage had been arranged
and would shortly take place between Violet and De Largentiere.  My
hopes were shattered, for my love had been cast aside.  She had actually
accepted the man she had professed to hate!"

"But did you not clear yourself?"  I asked.  "Surely you could easily
have done so?"

"How could I?  Were not the suspicions rendered more justifiable by
reason of my visit just prior to the crime.  Again, I had not returned
to my chambers that night, so day after day I remained in hiding.
Though innocent, I was not wholly prepared to meet the charge, for I saw
clearly that Jack and I had fallen victims of a foul plot.  The crime
that cost my friend his life was attributed to jealousy on my part, and
with an incentive thus invented, I clearly saw that the circumstantial
evidence was strong enough to convict me.  I sought my brother's
assistance, and, half mad with terror and despair, I escaped from
England.  To return to France would be to run into the arms of the
police, so I resolved to come here and in the wild life of the desert to
bury the past."

"But by whom was your friend Fothergill stabbed?"  I asked.

"Let me tell you," he replied.  "Since that day, when like a criminal I
fled from the trial I was afraid to face, I have learned only one fact,
though not until a year ago did it come to my knowledge.  It appears
that on the evening of the murder, Fothergill wrote telling me that
during a visit to Paris he had discovered certain details connected with
the relations between Mariette Lestrade, a pretty singer whose _chansons
de poirrot_ were well known at the Moulin Rouge and Ambassadeurs and the
ex-Minister of Education.  He had that day called at Long's Hotel, in
Bond Street, where the General was staying, and in the course of a
stormy interview threatened that if he still continued his suit, he
would expose his secret attachment to this star of the cafe-concert, and
take his cousin to her, so that she might investigate for herself.  Lord
Isleworth's daughter would have a handsome dowry which was much needed
to renovate the departed splendour of the ex-Minister's estate in the
Charente, therefore he was obstinate, laughed, snapped his fingers, and
defied Jack.  This interview took place at four o'clock in the
afternoon, and Jack wrote to me from the Naval and Military Club,
telling me everything, and stating that De Largentiere had threatened
his life.  This letter was delivered at my chambers the same night, but
I was not there, nor did I return, therefore my brother took charge of
it and after nearly two years it reached me out here, unopened."

"In face of such evidence as that," I said, "the identity of the actual
murderer is not very far to seek."

"No," he said, in a low, harsh tone.

"Why do you not take that letter, face the charge against you, and bring
the criminal to his punishment?"

"Why?" he echoed, starting to his feet and looking me full in the face.
"Why do I not denounce him, and return to civilisation?  Because," he
said slowly, in a voice trembling with emotion, "because Violet--the
woman I love--is Madame de Largentiere.  I think only of her.  I adore
her still.  She shall never know of her husband's terrible secret.  Her
innocent children shall never be branded as the spawn of a murderer!"

As he spoke, there was a bright flash in the dark clump of aloes
immediately opposite us, and at the same instant the report of a rifle
fired at close quarters caused me to start violently.

Octave Uzanne threw up his arms with a loud piercing cry, and, reeling,
fell heavily backward, struck down by a coward's bullet!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE FIGHT IN THE MESKAM.

Our eyes were in a moment blinded by a flash, as fifty rifles opened
fire upon us from every cover the thick bushes afforded.

For a few seconds, as the sounds of the first volley died away, there
was a dead silence.  So sudden had been the attack, that my comrades the
Spahis stood dumbfounded, but ere the rifles of our unknown enemies were
reloaded, fierce shrill yells rent the air, the arms that had been piled
were snatched up, horses were untethered, and almost simultaneously with
a second volley from the ambush, the _homards_, displaying cool courage,
poured into the thick growth of myrtles, hulfa, acacias, and dwarf
palms, a terribly withering fire.

The whole scene was enacted ere I could draw breath.  The moon had
disappeared, and in the darkness rifles seemed to pour forth flame on
every hand.  Evidently our enemies had been watching their opportunity,
and while the camp was busy preparing for the departure of the
Chasseurs, they had killed the three men on sentry duty on the other
side of the sand-hill, and then crept into ambush, and lay there until
the signal was given to open fire.

As the desperate combat commenced, and the fusillade burst forth with
deafening report, I felt for my revolver, but my heart sank within me as
I remembered that the Ennitra had relieved me of it, and I found myself
standing alone and unarmed.  A few feet away Uzanne's rifle was lying,
together with his bag of cartridges.  I dashed towards them and bent to
pick them up, but ere I could do so, a big fierce-looking Arab sprang
from the myrtles towards me, yelling and whirling his knife above his
head.

It was the work of an instant.

I remember feeling his sinewy grasp upon my shoulder, I saw his flashing
blade above me, and heard him cry in Arabic--

"Let the dogs perish!  Kill them!  Kill them all!"

The heavy knife whistled in the air as uplifted it poised aloft for a
moment.

Suddenly a shot sounded behind me.  My assailant clapped his left hand
to his breast and staggered back a few steps, then clutched violently at
the air and fell.  Glancing quickly in the direction whence the shot had
come, I saw my friend Uzanne had with difficulty raised himself on one
arm, and, drawing his revolver, had with unerring aim shot the Arab
through the heart.

Octave Uzanne had saved my life.

"_Sapristi_!" he shouted, with a laugh, as I dashed towards him.  "That
was a close shave!  _Je lui ai colle un atout sur le nez_!"

"Are you seriously hurt?"  I gasped; noticing as the rifles flashed that
blood was streaming from his shoulder.

"No," he replied quickly.  "I think not.  Don't trouble after me now,
for I'm no good.  I'll patch myself up.  Take my rifle and help the
others."

Snatching up the weapon, I loaded it, and, flinging myself on the ground
behind the root of a fallen palm, I opened fire upon the thick bushes
before me.  In this way the minutes, full of anxiety, passed in
ignorance of our foes.  The deafening explosions were incessant, yells
and cries of enemy and friend now and then sounded above the firing, and
the air grew so thick with smoke, that I could scarcely distinguish the
bushes where the Arabs lay in ambush.

As the terrible moments went by, I knew we were fighting for our lives.
Altogether our force in camp only amounted to sixty, while we were, as
yet, unaware of the character or number of our assailants.  That they
had dared to attack a military post showed they were present in
overwhelming numbers, and, further, that they had waited until the
Chasseurs had got away before swooping down to annihilate us.

Lying along the ground near my red-burnoused comrades, I fired as
regularly as I was able, until suddenly a bugle sounded.  It was the
order to mount!

My comrades dashed towards their tethered horses, a number of which had
been shot down, and I followed.  In the excitement I jumped upon the
saddle of the first animal I could reach, and as I did so, the bugle
again sounded.

"_I'htaris! sidi_!  Keep beside me," shouted a lithe, muscular Spahi,
vaulting upon a horse a few yards away.  "We'll soon clear out these
vermin."

Then, as my companion yelled an imprecation in Arabic and held his rifle
high above his head, we all, with one accord, spurred on our horses,
and, swift as the wind, tore across the open space between the line of
tents and low bushes, dashing into the cavernous darkness of the ambush
ere our enemy could be aware of our intention.  The result was
frightful.  Carried on by the wild rush, I found myself in the midst of
a sanguinary _melee_, where one had to fight one's adversaries literally
hand to hand.  My companions, whirling their keen blades, and shouting
prayers to Allah the while, fell upon their assailants with piercing
yells and cut them down in a manner that was truly awful, but it was not
until this moment that I discovered that the officer in command of the
Spahis had cleverly divided his small force into two detachments, one of
which was repulsing the enemy from the front, while the other had made a
circuitous charge, and was now outflanking our opponents and
slaughtering them in the rear.

Thus the outlaws were quickly hemmed in, and although we were unable to
follow them far, owing to the dense undergrowth, yet we silenced their
fire.

Then it was that we made a discovery.  The Spahi beside whom I had
ridden--a splendid fellow, who sat as firmly in his saddle as if he were
part of it, and who, while galloping, could fire his rifle with deadly
effect--shouted as he drew rein for a moment--

"_Diable_!  They are the children of Eblis--the Ennitra!"  Hadj
Absalam's band had followed me!

The cry was taken up.  The news spread rapidly from mouth to mouth, and
the knowledge that they were being attacked by the daring marauders for
whom they had been searching so long and so fruitlessly, caused every
_homard_ to redouble his energy, and strike a blow towards their
extermination.  The audacity of the outlaws roused the ire of these
fierce native troopers, for the fact that several Spahis had been shot
dead in the first moments of the attack, caused an unanimous resolve to
follow up the thieves and give them no quarter.

But scarcely had this decision been arrived at, when the attack was
renewed even more vigorously.  Concealed amidst the dense tropical
foliage, they opened fire with their rifles from a quarter whence we
least expected it, and in this direction we rode, only to be received by
a fusillade more galling than any that had been previously poured upon
us.

Their success, however, was not of long duration.  A bugle brought our
horses in line, and then, with a terrific rush that none could
withstand, we dashed upon them, felling them to earth with shot or sabre
thrust.

Suddenly a sharp sting in the left side caused me a twinge, and I felt
the warm blood trickling.  I hesitated a moment, knowing that I was
wounded.  With an imprecation the Spahi officer shouted to his men to
sweep the marauders away, and in the sudden rush and intense excitement
that followed I forgot my mishap.  Just, however, as I became separated
from my companions-in-arms, my wound gave me a second twinge of pain,
and there shot up from the tall grass at my side a brawny Arab, whose
white burnouse showed distinctly in the semi-darkness, and whose eyes
flashed with the fire of hatred.  Seizing my horse's head, he swung
round his _jambiyah_, but by good fortune I pulled the trigger of my
rifle just in time.  The bullet entered his throat, and he tumbled back
into the rank grass with a curse upon his lips.

The fight was long and desperate; not merely a skirmish, but a
thoroughly well-planned attack by Hadj Absalam's men to annihilate the
Spahis for the purpose of securing arms, ammunition, and horses.
Whether Absalam himself was present directing the operations we could
not learn, although two prisoners we captured both denied that he was
with them.

Presently the moon shone out again brightly, showing up both friend and
enemy, but the silence of night was still broken by rapid shots, mingled
with the loud, exultant shout of the victor and the hoarse, despairing
cry of the dying.  In that brief hour the scenes of bloodshed were
terrible.  Little did either the Ennitra or the Spahis value life, and
as they struggled desperately for the mastery, they fought with that
fierce courage characteristic of the barbarian of the desert.

Amid the wild massacre, when at last my comrades catching their enemies
unprepared and making a sudden onslaught cut through them with fire and
sword, the thought suddenly occurred to me that this fierce nomadic
tribe who had dared to attack us had been spoken of by Zoraida as "her
people."  Now at last they were being outflanked, unable to reach their
horses which had been captured by our detachment operating in their
rear, and we were sweeping them down--slaughtering them without mercy!

Sickened by the bloody fight in which I had involuntarily borne a part,
and feeling rather faint owing to my wound,--which happily, however,
proved a very slight one,--I left my comrades to complete their work of
annihilating the murderous band, which they did by following them as
they fell back through the tangled vegetation and away across the oasis
into the desert beyond, where, with the exception of eighteen who were
taken prisoners, the whole of those who had attacked us so desperately
were killed or wounded.

Where was Zoraida?  As hot and faint I rode back to the spot where my
whilom companion Uzanne was lying, I wondered whether the woman, whose
half-veiled face seemed ever before my eyes with tantalising
distinctness, had accompanied the unfortunate men of her barbaric tribe,
or was she waiting with the notorious old cut-throat at a safe distance
from the oasis, expecting each moment to learn of a brilliant success,
and impatient to assist in the high revelry and divide the plunder?

None of those of her people who had gone forth to attack us would,
however, return.

Seventy of them were stretched dead under the bright stars of the
Eastern sky, and nearly a hundred were lying with great ugly stains of
blood upon their burnouses, racked by the agony of their wounds, and
well knowing that ere the morrow's sun would set they would succumb to
heat and thirst; that in a few short hours the vultures would lay bare
their bones and leave them whitening on the glaring sand.

CHAPTER NINE.

UZANNE, THE OUTCAST.

The wild turbulence of that terrible night was succeeded by a peaceful,
brilliant dawn.

Already my comrades were preparing to move south, for immediately upon
the conclusion of the fight, messengers had been hastily despatched to
overtake the commandant, and the detachment would also move on after the
Chasseurs at sunset, as the unburied bodies of the marauders would
prevent them remaining longer on the Meskam.

My wound--a deep laceration of the flesh where an Arab's bullet had
grazed me--proving more painful than at first, I had decided to
accompany the messenger who, with an escort, would leave the camp at
sundown to travel due north by way of Zaouia Timassanin and over the
barren Areg, bearing the intelligence of the annihilation of the
marauders to the headquarters of the Spahis at Tuggurt.  For some time I
was undecided whether to remain with the military post, or return to
civilisation.  It was six months since I had left Oran, and for the
greater part of that time I had been travelling.  I was by no means
tired of life in the desert, but the recollection that the mysterious
Zoraida intended to perform a pilgrimage to the popular shrine on the
outskirts of Algiers, and that if I went south to Zamlen as I had
intended, I should certainly lose all chance of seeing her again, caused
my decision to recross the Atlas and return.

Late that afternoon, while the glaring sun blazed down upon the
motionless bodies of the marauders over which the great dark vultures
now hovered, I sat in Uzanne's tent.  Stretched upon the ground, my
friend, half-dressed, lay with his head upon his saddle.  The wound in
his shoulder had been roughly bandaged, pending an examination by the
surgeon who had gone south with the Chasseurs, and although his bronzed
face was a trifle paler, he nevertheless wore an air of utter
carelessness.

It was our last chat together, and I had been thanking him for the lucky
shot that had knocked over the Arab who had pinned me down.

"_Zut_!" he replied, laughing.  "_Eh bien_, old fellow!  It was the only
man among old Absalam's gang that I could pot.  If they had given me a
chance, I would have bagged one or two more, but, _diable_! they
didn't."

"No," I replied.  "They apparently fired point blank at you."

"I don't know why they were so particularly malicious towards me.  But
there, I suppose it's only my usual bad luck," and he smiled grimly.
"One thing is certain, however, we shall not be troubled by old Absalam
again for some time."

"Do you think we have entirely broken up his band?"

"No.  His people are born marauders, and will continue to plunder and
murder until he is captured or shot.  He will break out in a fresh place
before long.  Strange that we can never catch him!  He really seems to
lead a charmed existence."

"Yes," I said.  "He's a clever old villain."  Then I commenced to talk
to him of his return to France.

"I shall never go back," he snapped, frowning.  "Have I not already told
you that I have no further interest in life among the people I once
knew?  When now and then we are quartered in Algiers, its civilisation
palls upon me and carries me back to days I am trying to forget.  I'm a
social outsider; a fugitive from justice.  If I cleared myself, it would
be at the cost of _her_ happiness--why should I go back?"

"But you don't intend to spend the remainder of your days here, in the
desert, do you?"  I asked.

"Why not?  We Spahis have a saying, `_Attaslim ehire, rafik_'!"
("Resignation is the best companion.") Then, grasping my hand and
looking seriously into my eyes, he added, "There is but one thing that
troubles me.  Violet!--Violet herself believes that I am her cousin's
murderer!"

I was silent.  How strange it was that I should meet here, so far
removed from civilisation as we in Europe know it, a man who held a
secret which, if made known, would cause one of the greatest scandals
that has ever shocked Society!  How bitter were his thoughts; how
utterly wrecked was his life! in order that a leader of smart Paris--a
woman over whose beauty London had raved--should live in blissful
happiness with her husband, this man was leading an aimless, hopeless
life, condemned by his friends as a coward and a criminal.

He noticed my look of sympathy, and pressed my hand a trifle harder.

"I do not usually wear my heart on my sleeve," he said, at last.
"Indeed, I have told my secret to no one beside yourself; therefore
consider what I have said is in confidence.  You are returning to the
world I have so ignominiously left, and in all probability we shall not
meet again.  If we do, and you require a friend, remember you will find
him in the Spahi, Octave Uzanne."

"A thousand thanks," I said.  "You, who have saved me from an Arab's
sword, may always rely upon my devoted friendship.  Expressions of vague
regret are useless.  A stout heart, a clear conscience, and a fixed
determination may accomplish many difficulties--they may even effect
one's social resurrection--one's--"

"With me, never," he interrupted, despondently.  "But see! your horse is
ready," he added, glancing at the tent door, before which a soldier
stood, holding the fine Ku-hai-lan that Zoraida had given me.  "You will
have a long ride to-night, and the dispatches cannot wait.  You must
go."

"Then adieu," I said, rising and shaking his sun-tanned hand heartily.
"I hope you'll soon be right again.  Till we meet, _au revoir_."

He smiled rather sorrowfully, and his dark eyes wore a wistful look.
But it was only momentary.  "_Bon voyage_," he said, gaily.  "Accept the
good wishes of an outcast."

The dispatch-bearer was outside, speaking impatiently and shouting to
remind me that we had a long and fatiguing journey before us; therefore
a few moments later I was in the saddle, and the messenger, six Spahis,
and myself were soon galloping away past the ghastly corpses of Hadj
Absalam's followers and out into the trackless appallingly-silent
wilderness.

CHAPTER TEN.

HUMOURS FROM THE DESERT.

Twelve weary days after leaving the Meskam, journeying due north over
the hot loose sands of the Great Erg, the hill crowned by the imposing
white cupolas and towers of the desert town of Tuggurt came into view.

The scene was charming.  It was an hour before sundown, and as we
ascended the long caravan route from Ngoussa, a foot deep in dust, the
place presented a purely Oriental aspect.  Against a background of
cool-looking palms, the white flat-roofed houses, the grim walls of the
Kasbah, and the domes of the many mosques stood out in bold relief.
Riding on, we entered a beautiful grove of tall date palms, the trees
which the Arabs say stand with their feet in the water and their heads
in the fire of heaven.  Under their welcome shade a rivulet flowed with
rippling music over the pebbles, and fruit trees and corn were growing
luxuriantly, for the oasis is most fertile, although, strangely enough,
the abundance of water throughout the Oued Gheir causes a malignant
fever which proves fatal to Europeans.  The beautiful palm-groves and
wealth of vegetation was unutterably refreshing after the heat and glare
of the waterless regions of the south; and as we approached the gate, a
strange motley crowd of gaily-dressed Arabs of the Beni Mansour, Jews,
Biskris, and Negroes came forth to meet us and inquire what news we
brought.

Our statement that Hadj Absalam's men had been repulsed and defeated
caused the wildest rejoicings, and we made a triumphant entry into the
place, followed by a gesticulating throng who apparently regarded us as
heroes.

Tuggurt is a curious old town.  European civilisation has not yet
reached it, for, with the exception of one or two French officers, there
are no Christian residents.  Built almost entirely of bricks baked in
the sun, its low houses join one another, and present an unbroken line
save for the two town gates.  Secure from attack, its moat is now filled
up, and in front of the stone-built Kasbah stands the principal of the
twenty mosques, with its high dome and tall slender minarets.  Around
its ancient market-place, where for hundreds of years slaves were bought
and sold, are cool arcades with crumbling horse-shoe arches, while
beside it there rises the dilapidated dome of a disused house of prayer,
bearing some curious plaster arabesques.  Within the _enceinte_ of the
Kasbah--the scene of a horrible massacre during the revolt of the Cherif
Bou Choucha in 1871--stands the barracks, the commandant's house, and
the hospital, and it was within those walls, in an inner court beside a
plashing fountain, that in the twilight I sat explaining to Captain
Carmier, the commandant, how the attack was frustrated.

A French dinner was an appreciable change after the eternal kousskouss,
dates, and kola nuts that form one's sustenance on the plains, and as
the Captain, a lieutenant, and myself sat over our cognac and
cigarettes, I told them of my adventures with Ali Ben Hafiz, and the
surprise by the Spahis in the far-off Meskam.

The cool peacefulness of that ancient Kasbah garden, where the veiled
houris of Bou Choucha once lounged and plucked the roses, was
delightful, and, sitting with the foliage rustling above, there was an
air of repose such as I had not experienced for months.

"So the _homards_ have gone south to overtake the Chasseurs," Captain
Carmier said, as he struck a match on his heel and lit his cigarette
after I had told him how valiantly my companions had fought.  "How
aggravating it is that Hadj Absalam always escapes us!"

"Extraordinary!" remarked the lieutenant, a thorough Parisian, who had
just been grumbling at his lot, he having been sent to the desert for
three years, instead of to Tonquin, where he might earn distinction and
the yellow and green ribbon, as he had expected.  "Nothing would please
me better than to command an expedition in search of him."

"Search?  What's the use?" asked the commandant.  "The rapidity with
which the old scoundrel travels is simply miraculous.  To-day he's here,
to-morrow he disappears, and on the third day he is reported completely
out of our reach.  As on previous occasions, he has, I suppose,
retreated beyond Mount El Aghil, and there, idling in his harem, is
snapping his fingers and defying us.  It is always the same--always."

"Are his headquarters on Mount Aghil, then?"  I asked, for amid all the
conflicting reports I had never been able to learn the outlaw's actual
place of abode.

"It is said that his stronghold is perched on an almost inaccessible
rock not far from Tiouordeouin, and that his household consists of
nearly a thousand persons."

"Of whom about half are inmates of his harem," added the lieutenant,
smiling.  "According to report current among the neighbouring tribe, the
Tedjehe N'ou Sidi, the ladies of his household include a number of
Europeans who have from time to time fallen into his merciless clutches.
The favourites are surrounded by every luxury, the proceeds of his
raids, while those who fall into disfavour, or whose personal charms
deteriorate by age, are disposed of in the very simple method of being
thrown over the cliff and dashed to pieces upon the rocks beneath."

"Horrible!"  I exclaimed.  "But why does not the Government send a
sufficient force to follow him into his fastness and capture him?"

"For several reasons," answered the commandant.  "Firstly, because that
portion of the Ahaggar where he has his abode has never been explored;
secondly, because, by reason of the zealously-guarded mountain pass by
which it is approached, access is impossible except by a strong column,
who would meet with a most desperate resistance, and would have to take
it by storm.  The third, and perhaps most important, reason is, because
the region of the Ennitra is declared by all the neighbouring nomad
tribes to be a sacred place, where several miracle-working marabouts are
buried, and any attempt at desecration by Europeans would certainly
cause a holy war all through the Sahara.  Therefore the War Department,
although the General has urged them times without number to send a
column in pursuit of Hadj Absalam, prefer to wait and capture him when
in the act of plunder."

"That will never be, it seems," I remarked.

"No.  _Il sait le fin des fins_," laughed Carmier.  "It is said that he
attributes his extraordinary success in evading us to a woman who is
gifted with second sight."

"A woman?"  I exclaimed, surprised.  "She's believed to be a witch, I
suppose?"

"Yes, and a young and very pretty one, too.  They say her beauty is
marvellous, and her power supernatural.  While I was in command of the
advanced post at Tihodayen, near the salt mines of Sebkha d'Amadghor,
three Spahis ventured into the Ikerremoin Oasis in search of forage, and
they declare that they came across her.  She was surrounded by a number
of slaves, and was lying unveiled under a canopy of white and gold.
According to their account, she possesses the _beaute du diable_, her
women make obeisance to her, and the men who approach fall upon their
knees before her, kiss the ground, and ask her blessing.  It is said,
too, that Mulai Hassan, Sultan of Morocco, saw her on one occasion when
he crossed the frontier, and offered Hadj Absalam an enormous sum for
her, but the superstitious Ennitra threatened a revolt if she were sold.
Whether that's true I don't know," he added, shrugging his shoulders
and sipping his cognac.  "She is evidently Queen of the Desert, and I
merely tell you what's rumoured."

"But is she Moorish, Arab, or a Negress?"  I asked.  "What is her name?"

"She is from the mountains, they say, and the Ennitra know her as
Daughter of the Sun."

"Daughter of the Sun?"  I cried, starting.  I remembered that Zoraida
had, in reply to my questions, told me that that was her name.  Could
this strange woman of incomparable beauty, who was believed by her
people to be possessed of supernatural power, be none other than my
mysterious Zoraida, the woman whose veiled face was in my waking hours
and in my dreams constantly before my eyes?

"Is her name familiar?" asked the Captain, noticing my ill-concealed
surprise.

"No--not at all!"  I stammered.  "Surely that designation is common
enough among the Arabs!  It seems an extraordinary fact, nevertheless,
that a young and beautiful woman should direct the movements of a band
of outlaws."

"True," replied Carmier, thoughtfully twisting his waxed moustache.
"And there is, moreover, considerable mystery with regard to her which
nobody has up to the present been able to solve.  One thing, however,
appears certain, that this veiled prophetess is an inmate of Hadj
Absalam's harem."

His words stung me.  Could it be possible that this woman who held the
murderous nomads under her sway was the same to whom I owed my life?
Nay, was it not most probable that she, the graceful incarnation of
Eastern beauty whom I adored, was one of the four wives allowed to Hadj
Absalam by the Prophet?  The mystery was bewildering.  The very thought
drove me to despair, for I confess I loved her to the verge of madness.

My companion smoked on in lazy contemplative silence.  Above, the stars
were bright in a steely sky; the ancient court, with its horse-shoe
arches, wide arcades, and trailing vines, looked ghostly in the dim
light.  The quiet was only broken by the running water of the fountain
as it fell with pleasant music into its time-worn blue-tiled basin, and
the measured tramp of the sentry in the outer court beyond.  Upward the
cigarette smoke dissolved into the cool night air, carrying with it
bitter thoughts of the past, and strange, dreamy visions of an unknown
future.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE CITY OF THE SUN.

I was awaiting Zoraida, my enchantress.

After a few days in Tuggurt, and a lengthened stay in the date-groves of
Biskra with my genial friend the General of Division, I found myself
once again in old El Djezair, that quaint Franco-Arab city known to
Europeans as Algiers.  Here Western civilisation and Oriental fanaticism
mingle, but never blend.  It is a city of glare and darkness, of mosques
and marabouts, of Parisian politeness and Berber barbarity, of wide,
modern-built boulevards and narrow, crooked streets, as yet untouched by
the hand of the colonising vandal.

Till a comparatively recent date it was a nest of fierce pirates who
were a terror to Europe, and even now one cannot look upon the gigantic
mole and other works prior to the French occupation without remembering
that they were constructed by Christian slaves, who were beaten,
tortured, and made to toil under the blazing sun until their gyves wore
into their flesh, and death relieved them of their miseries.  The great
white Kasbah on the hill-top, once the gorgeous Palace of the Deys, now
echoes to the tramp of Zouaves and artillery.  If those gigantic walls
could speak, what tales of outrage, torture, and butchery they, alas!
could tell!  In the great harem, where hundreds of English and French
women captured by the Corsairs have pined and died, smart officers on
colonial service now lounge, smoke, and discuss the topics of their
beloved Paris as revealed by the _Petit Journal_ and the _Figaro_; while
down in the Rue de la Lyre British tourists in suits of astounding check
stare in abject astonishment at Fathma or Khadidja, who, veiled and
shrouded in her white haick, has descended the ladder-like streets of
the native quarter to make purchases in the Rue de Constantine or the
Marche de la Lyre.

This City of the Sun is one of violent contrasts.  Seen from the sea, it
fully bears out its Arab comparison of being a "diamond set in
emeralds," for in terraces of intensely white, flat-roofed houses, each
with little square windows like pips upon a dice, it rises high upon the
bright green Sahel hills.  In the centre the Arab town with its cupolas
and minarets is crowned by the great fortress, while right and left are
the pleasant suburbs of St Eugene and Mustapha, their white houses and
handsome villas gleaming forth from dark luxuriant foliage.

In the French quarter, the Boulevard de la Republique, running along
nearly the whole front of the town facing the sea, the wide Place du
Gouvernement, with its oasis of palms, and the Rue d'Isly, with its
avenue of trees, are all hot and full of busy, bustling French; but turn
away up any of the side streets from the Rue de la Lyre, cross the
Quartier Juif, and in a few moments one is in a bewildering labyrinth of
steep, shady, and tortuous streets, so narrow in places that two asses
cannot pass with their panniers.

Herein lies the charm of Algiers.  Those narrow passages, where the
Arabs sit on rush mats outside the _kahoua_, drinking tiny cups of
coffee, smoking cigarettes, and killing time by playing _damma_, are the
same at this moment as they were in the days of Yousuf Zeri; and
although the religious prejudices of the Arab, the Moor, the Jew, and
the Biskri have perhaps become somewhat modified by contact with the
civilising Roumis, yet their mode of life is still the same, and at
heart they hate the Christians as fiercely as ever.  Indolent and
content, they love to lean upon the long parapet of the Boulevard de la
Republique, gazing with deep-set, thoughtful eyes away over the bright
blue sea, to lounge in groups at street corners gossiping, to sit at the
garish French cafes driving bargains with European merchants, or
hand-in-hand to stroll leisurely across to the mosque to their daily
prayers.  Side by side with dainty ladies in Paris-made gowns and the
high-heeled boots of fashion, Arab women, with foreheads heavily laden
with tinkling sequins, their dark, flashing eyes peeping over their
veils, and all looking exactly the same in their spotlessly white but
hideous out-door dress, shuffle along with waddling gait, and turn to
glance surreptitiously at the stranger after he or she has passed.

This wonderful old city of sunlight and shadow, of dazzling brightness
and sombre gloom, of strange incongruities of dress, of language, and of
religion, was by no means fresh to me.  On taking up my quarters at the
Hotel de la Regence, in the Place du Gouvernement, I was welcomed as an
old friend, for on several previous occasions, while idling in El
Djezair, I had made it my headquarters in preference to the suburban
hotels on the hill at Mustapha.  Before the house a cluster of fine date
palms throw a welcome shade, and beyond lies the bay, with the great,
misty mountains of Kabylia in the distance.  Forming one side of the
Place stands the Djamaa el-Djedid, with its plain windowless walls,
dazzlingly white dome, and square minaret, whereon at sunset the
_mueddin_ appears and calls the Faithful to prayer.  Here, again,
extremes meet.  The monotonous voice of the priest mingles with the
jingle and chatter of the French cafe opposite, and Europeans, sipping
their bock or mazagran, watch the devout Moslems trooping into the
courtyard to wash before entering the house of Allah.

Here, in this the most charmingly cosmopolitan city in the world, where
subjects for the artist are presented in perfect panorama at every turn,
I wandered and idled at cafes, killing time impatiently, and eagerly
awaiting the day on which my mysterious desert acquaintance would go
upon her pilgrimage.  At last that long-wished-for Friday dawned, and
leaving the city early by the gate Bab-el-Oued, I strolled through the
charming Jardin Marengo, under the intensely white walls of the handsome
mosque built over the shrine of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman, and then out on the
road which wound up through the dark, wild ravine of the Bou-Zarea.

In the fresh, cool morning air the walk up that well-shaded road to the
Frais-Vallon was delightful, even though the aloes and prickly pears
were white with dust and the sun had scorched the foliage of the almond
and orange trees.  At the top of the glen, where the road narrowed into
a footpath, I found a little Arab cafe, and upon a stone bench before it
I seated myself to watch for the woman who held me under her spell.

This smiling, fertile country beside the sea, where grapes, olives, and
sweet flowers grew in such wild abundance, was charming after the great
wastes of arid sand; and while the birds sang gladly above in the
cloudless vault of blue, I sat alone, smoking and sipping a tiny cup of
coffee, watching the veiled women in their white baggy trousers and
haicks, in pairs and singly, slowly toiling past up the steep road on
their way to adore the koubba of Sidi-Djebbar.

That Zoraida should repair to this shrine was puzzling.  It added
considerably to the mystery which enveloped her.  Sidi-Djebbar is the
patron saint of divorced Arab women, and, according to a local
tradition, whenever a divorced lady makes three pilgrimages to his tomb
and drinks of the waters of Aioun Srakna, she will marry again before
the next fast of Ramadan.  Was Zoraida the divorced wife of some man who
had bought her from her parents and had soon grown tired of her?  Was
she an outcast from the harem?

Thoughts such as these filled my mind as I watched the veiled houris
pass in silent, pious procession.  To distinguish one from another was
impossible.  The only way in which I could tell a lady from a woman of
the people was by her feet and by the texture of her haick.  The feet of
the lower classes were bare and thrust into heavy, roughly-made
slippers, while on the neat ankles of wealthier women gold bangles
jingled, their feet were encased in stockings of silk, they wore tiny
Paris-made patent-leather shoes, and as they brushed past, they left
upon the air a scent of attar of rose.  The women of Al-Islam are seldom
allowed to visit the mosques, so on Friday, their day of prayer, they go
on foot to venerate the koubbas of their saints instead.

A weary journey extending over a month, had brought me at last to this
spot, yet how among all these shrouded figures could I distinguish the
woman I adored?  Suddenly it occurred to me that, although I had taken
up a position of vantage, Zoraida would not approach me, an Infidel, at
any spot where she might be observed; therefore I rose and strolled
leisurely on up the steep shaded track that led in serpentine wanderings
among the fig trees, oranges, and vines.

Half convinced that her promise would never be kept, and that she was
still in the far Sahara, I walked on very slowly for some distance.
Suddenly, at a bend in the hill-path, where the wide branches of the
cork oaks, the ilex, and the chene-zeen met overhead, and the giant
aloes grew abundantly, a voice amongst the leafy scrub startled me, and
a short, stout figure appeared from among the foliage.  Glancing round
to reassure herself she was unobserved, she ran towards me.  Only her
eyes were visible, but they disappointed me, for I could see that they
were not those of the woman for whom I was searching.  She was old; her
forehead was brown, wizened, and tattooed.

"Art thou the Angleezi whom Allah delivered into the hands of our master
Hadj Absalam?  Art thou named the Amin?" she asked, almost breathlessly,
in Arabic.

"Yes," I replied.  "Who art thou?"

"Know, O Roumi, that I have been sent by my mistress, Zoraida Fathma,"
she said, drawing her haick closer with her brown, bony hand.  "My lady
of exalted dignity said unto me, `Go, seek the foreigner Cecil Holcombe,
_wakol loh inni moshtak ilich_.'" ("Tell him that I am desiring to see
him.")

"To see her?  I expected she would be here!"  I said.

"Alas! no.  The koubba of Sidi-Djebbar cannot be graced by my lady's
presence this moon."

"Is she here, in El Djezair?"  I asked quickly.

"Yes.  Although thou hast not known it, her lustrous eyes, the Lights of
the Harem, hath already gazed upon thee since thy sojourn here.  She
desireth to have speech with thee."

"When?"

"Two hours after the sun hath set."

"And where may I see her?"  I asked, impatiently.

"Knowest thou, O Roumi, that in the Jardin Marengo there is a path under
the wall of the holy Zaouia of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman.  If thou wilt meet me
there under the great cedar tree when the moon hath risen, I will
conduct thee to her presence.  My lady hath named thee Amin, and must
see thee."

"I will await thee," I replied.  "Go, tell thy mistress that the hours
have passed at snail's pace since we met, that the Amin weareth her
ring, and that he hath not forgotten."

"Behold!  Some one cometh!" she exclaimed in alarm, as a tall Arab
appeared at the bend of the path sauntering slowly in our direction.  "I
must not be seen speaking with thee, an Infidel, within the sacred
precincts of the koubba.  Till to-night, _sidi, slama_."

And, turning quickly, the messenger from my mysterious enchantress
strode onward towards the tomb of the patron saint of divorce.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

AN OATH TO MESSOUDIA.

With eager anticipation of once again meeting Zoraida, I left the Place
Bab-el-Oued, and, ascending the steep incline, entered the Jardin
Marengo.

The sun had disappeared into the broad Mediterranean, flooding the sea
with its lurid blaze of gold; the light had faded, the _muddenin_ had,
from the minarets of the mosques, called the Faithful to their evening
devotions, and the dusky, mystic gloom had now deepened into night.
From the garden, situated a hundred feet or more above the sea, on the
edge of the city but within the fortifications, a beautiful picture was
presented.  Above, the square castellated minaret of the mosque of Sidi
Abd-er-Rahman stood out distinctly against the calm night sky; below, in
the hollow, the houses of the lower town clustered with a dream-like
picturesqueness in every line and angle.  Beyond, lay the harbour with
its breakwater and tall white lighthouse; in the gently undulating water
were long perpendicular twinklings of light, and against the darkness,
which was not wholly dark, the bold lines and tapering masts of half a
dozen vessels were sharply silhouetted.  The distant strains of one of
the tenderest airs from "Carmen," played by the fine Zouave band,
floated upward out of the shadow; and as I stood under the giant cedar
which the old Arab woman had indicated, it was hard to say whether one's
looking or one's listening brought a finer sense of restfulness and
remoteness.  It was probably the alliance of the two that gave to those
moments their special fascination.

The ancient mosque, under the walls of which I waited, was silent.
Among the dark foliage lights glimmered, and overhead in the spacious
quiet were a few stars.  At last the air from "Carmen" died in its final
poignant chords, the succeeding silence remained far a long time
unbroken, and the moon shone forth from behind the light scud.  Its
white brilliance was shedding a silvery light over the trees and
gravelled walks, when suddenly I saw, moving slowly in the shadow of the
ilex trees, a shrouded figure approaching noiselessly, like some ghostly
visitant from the graveyard of the mosque.

A few moments later the old Arab woman with whom I had made the
appointment, emerged into the moonlight and halted before me.

"Thou, the Amin, the stranger from over seas, hast kept thy promise,"
she said, slowly.  "Know, O Roumi, that my lady awaiteth thee."

"Whither wilt thou conduct me?"  I asked.  "Is the journey long?"

"No," she answered.  "First, before I, Messoudia, conduct thee to her,
thou must swear by thine own Deity never to reveal to any one, Mussulman
or Christian, her whereabouts, or, even though strange things may
occur,--more remarkable than thou hast ever dreamed,--thou wilt never
seek to discover their cause, neither wilt thou approach her in the
future unless she commandeth thee."

The weird old woman's words mystified me.  In the moonlight her
white-robed figure looked ghostly and mysterious, and her small dark
eyes peered earnestly at me over her veil.

"Why should I give such an undertaking?"  I asked.

"Because--because it is my lady's desire.  It is her words I deliver
unto thee; if thou dost not obey, thou canst never enter her presence."

I hesitated.  Perhaps, after all, it would be best not to go, for if I
were discovered, Zoraida's life as well as mine would most probably pay
the penalty.  Besides, she might be already married!  Some questions I
had asked of her servant, when we met at the Frais-Vallon earlier in the
day, were directed towards clearing up that point, but I had only
received vague, evasive answers.

Noticing my indecision, the old woman continued--"Thy thoughts, O Roumi,
are that thy presence in my lady's apartment would be an insult to our
creed.  _O' ha kki k lak annoh lise fi hatha al-amr ehatar_."  ("I
assure thee there is no danger in that matter.")

"And if I undertake to respect her wishes although my curiosity be
aroused, what then?"  I asked, still undecided.

"My lady will admit thee to her presence, and have speech with thee
alone.  Remember, O Infidel, she risked her life to save thee, and thou,
in return, may now redeem thy promise to her."

"Then I will accompany thee," I said at last, determined to see my fair
Enchantress of the Desert again.  "And if her commands are imperative, I
give my word of honour as an Englishman that I will never make inquiry
regarding things I may witness, unless she giveth me sanction."

"May all the blessings of Allah be extended unto thee!" she replied,
with evident satisfaction at my resolve, for seldom will a True Believer
express such a wish to an Infidel.  "I, a Moslem, cannot walk with thee,
but follow me, and I will lead thee unto her."

Then, drawing her haick closer, she moved onward in the deep shadow of
the orange and ilex trees, while I, with mixed feelings of pleasure and
distrust, strode on after her.

I had exchanged my haick and burnouse for European dress, now that I was
back in Algiers.  The spirit of adventure was strong within me, yet I
felt curiously apprehensive of some untoward event.  I was about to
enter the abode of some fanatical Moslem, to converse with a woman of
Al-Islam, to tread upon ground that must always be highly dangerous to a
Christian.  Yet the world was before me, and there is always pleasure
and excitement in plunging single-handed into its chilling depths.

Ascending the short flight of steps at the side of the mosque we emerged
from the Jardin Marengo, and, turning into the broad but unfrequented
Boulevard Valee, the highest point of the ancient town, we walked for
some distance until nearly opposite the great grey walls of the prison,
when suddenly my guide crossed the road and dived into the Arab quarter,
a puzzling labyrinth of narrow crooked streets and gloomy little
passages, of maze-like windings and dark _impasses_.  As we passed down
the steep, ill-lit streets, white-burnoused men were squatting in groups
on the mats outside their cafes, drinking coffee, playing _damma_, and
smoking "the pipe of permanence;" or inside the _kahoua_ they lounged
upon the benches, discussing the topics of the day.  In the deep dens
that serve as shops, shoemakers were still plying their trade, makers of
horn rings were still at their primitive lathes, and embroiderers were
still busily sewing in the yellow lamplight.

The streets were crowded, for it was pleasant in the evening hour, and
amid the chatter of Arabic we sped on, wending our way in and out the
tortuous turnings until I had no idea in what portion of the Arab
quarter we were.  The streets bore names in French on little plates, it
is true, but after we had crossed the Rue de la Kasbah, the principal
native business street, I discovered nothing that gave me a clue to the
direction in which I was going.  A dozen turns to right and left, now
ascending through some dark tunnel-like passage, now descending where
the ancient thoroughfare was wide enough to admit three asses abreast,
we at last came to where two narrow streets met.  Straight before us was
an arched door in a great, gloomy, whitewashed house, windowless except
for a few little square holes high up, protected by lattices of thick
iron bars.  The house was very old, built in the time of the Deys, and
as my guide rapped upon the door, I noticed that the step was worn
deeply by the feet of generations, and above the arch the hand of Fathma
in brass was nailed to avert the evil eye.

It was a strange inartistic-looking exterior, but, ere I had time to
gaze around, the heavy iron-studded door swung open, and, entering, we
passed through a narrow vestibule, or _skiffa_, into a spacious _oust_,
or open court, where a vine trailed above and a fountain fell gently
into its marble basin.  Then, for the first time since we left the
Jardin Marengo, my guide spoke.  In a low half-whisper, she said--

"Thy voice must not be heard.  This meeting is strictly secret,
therefore follow me in silence and noiselessly."

"_Ma ansash_," I replied.

"And thy promise?" she whispered.

"My oath bindeth me to obey her."

"Then thou art truly the Amin.  Peace be unto thee, and upon thy
descendants and companions," she said.  "Hush! make no noise.  Let us
seek her."

Crossing the dark courtyard, she unlocked a small door, and I followed
her in.  The mingled perfume of musk, geranium, and attar of rose was
almost overpowering, and my feet fell with noiseless tread upon a thick,
soft carpet.  A great hanging lamp of filigree brass shed a welcome ray,
and as we ascended the broad stair, I thought I heard whisperings and
the rustle of silken garments.  Upstairs, a big, handsomely-dressed
negro stood apparently awaiting us, for, with a sharp, inquiring glance
and the exchange of some whispered words in Kabyle dialect, which I
could not distinctly catch, he conducted me along a well-carpeted
passage to the end, where closed plush curtains barred our passage.

As I advanced, he suddenly drew them aside, and in a low deep voice
announced me in Arabic, inviting me to enter.

Stepping forward, I gazed around in curiosity and amazement.

I was in the harem!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

NIGHT IN THE HAREM.

"Ah, Ce-cil!  At last!--at last!  _Marhaba_."

There was a movement on the other side of the dimly-lit, luxurious
chamber, and from her silken divan Zoraida half rose to greet me.
Reclining with languorous grace upon a pile of silken cushions, her hand
outstretched in glad welcome, the jewels she wore flashed and gleamed
under the antique Moorish hanging lamp with an effect that was
bewildering.  But alas! from her eyes to her chin a flimsy veil still
concealed her features.

Taking her small white hand, I stood by the divan and looked down at her
steadily in silence, then raised her fingers slowly and reverently to my
lips.

The curtains had fallen; we were alone.

Presently, when we had gazed into each other's eyes with tender,
passionate earnestness, I addressed her in Arab simile as light of my
life from the envy of whose beauty the sun was confused, and told her
how slowly time had dragged along since I had escaped from the poison of
the asp; how glad I was to bow once again before the Daughter of the
Sun.

She listened to my affectionate words without replying.  One of her
little pale green slippers had fallen off, leaving a tiny bare foot
lying white upon the dark silk.

Her dress was gorgeous, fully in keeping with her costly surroundings.
She was a veiled enchantress in gold-spangled embroidery, filmy gauzes,
and silver brocade.  Her dark crimson velvet _rlila_, or jacket, cut
very low at the throat, exposing her white, bare breast, was heavily
embroidered with gold, the little _chachia_ stuck jauntily on the side
of her head was of the same hue, thickly ornamented with seed pearls,
while her wide, baggy _serroual_, reaching only mid-leg, were of palest
_eau de nil_ silk, fine as gauze, and brocaded with tiny coloured
flowers.  Her vest, that showed below the _rlila_, was of silver
brocade, and her sash, of many-coloured stripes, was looped in front,
the fringes hanging gracefully.  Across her forehead a string of gold
sequins was stretched, with a centre-piece consisting of a great cluster
of lustrous diamonds, while three particularly fine gems, set in
pendants, hung upon her white brow.  Around her slim, delicate throat
were two splendid diamond necklaces, a dozen rows of seed pearls, and a
necklet composed of large, golden Turkish coins.  Suspended by four
heavy gold chains about her neck was her golden perfume-bottle,
encrusted with roughly-cut diamonds and sapphires; on her arms she wore
_mesais_ of gold and silver studded with gems, her fingers glittered
with diamonds, and on her neat, bare ankles golden _redeefs_ jingled.

Indeed, she was the fairest and most dazzling woman my eyes had ever
gazed upon.

The air of the harem was heavy with sweet perfumes, mingling with the
sensuous odour of burning pastilles.  In the apartment everything
betokened wealth and taste.  The silken divans, with their downy,
brightly-coloured cushions, the priceless inlaid tables, the genuinely
antique cabinets with doors of mother-of-pearl, the Eastern rugs of
beautifully-blended shades, the rich embroideries, and the profusion of
flowers, all combined to render it the acme of comfort and luxury, and
graced by such a bewitching vision of Eastern beauty, the scene seemed
more like a glimpse of fairyland than a reality.

"Thou hast not forgotten me, then?" she said, raising herself slowly,
and placing under her handsome head a cushion of pale primrose silk.

"No," I replied.  "How can I ever forget thee?"

Her white breast rose and fell in a deep-drawn sigh.

"Already Allah, the Most Merciful, hath directed thy footsteps and
vouchsafed me the felicity of conversing with thee.  Thou hast kept thy
promise unto me, O Cecil, for when the _homards_ would follow us, thou
didst not betray our whereabouts.  Therefore I trust thee."

"I assure thee that any confidence thou placest in me shall never be
abused," I replied.  "Yet," I added, "thou dost not place in me that
perfect trust that I have."

"Why?" she asked, in quick surprise.

"Still hidden from my gaze is that countenance I am longing to look
upon."

"Wouldst thou have me cast aside my religion?  I am a woman; remember
what is written," she exclaimed, half reproachfully.

"The adoration of the Christian is none the less passionate than the
love of the True Believer," I said.  "A woman is not defiled by the gaze
of the man she loveth.  But," I added thoughtfully, "perhaps, after all,
thou hast no thought of me, and my fond belief that in thy breast
burneth the fire of love is only a vain delusion."

"Thou--thou thinkest I can care nothing for thee--a Roumi?  Why?" she
cried, starting up.

"Because of thy refusal to unveil."

She hesitated; her brows were momentarily contracted.  Her hand
trembled.

"Then, though I cast aside the creed of my forefathers and the commands
of the Prophet, I give thee definite answer.  See!"  With a sudden
movement she withdrew a golden pin, and, tearing away her white silken
veil, her countenance was revealed.

I stood amazed, fascinated, half fearing that the wondrous vision of
beauty was only a chimera of my distorted imagination that would quickly
fade.

Yet it was a reality.  The face turned upward to mine with a merry,
mischievous smile was that of Zoraida, the woman who had now so plainly
demonstrated her love.

"Well," she asked, with a merry, rippling laugh, "art thou satisfied?
Do I please thee?"

"Thou art, indeed, the fairest daughter of Al-Islam," I said, slowly
entwining my arm about her neck and bending to kiss her.  She was fair
as the sun at dawn, with hair black as the midnight shades, with
Paradise in her eye, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving like
the tamarisk when the soft wind blows from the hills of Afiou.

Her lips met mine in a long, hot, passionate caress; but at last she
pushed me from her with firmness, saying--

"No, I must not--I must not love thee!  Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds,
Pardoner of Transgressions, knoweth that thou art always in my
thoughts--yet we can never be more than friends."

"Why?"  I asked, in dismay.  "May we not marry some day?"

"Thou art a Roumi, while I--I am a dweller in the mansion of grief."

"But all things are possible," I said.  "If thou art afraid of thy
people, trust in me.  Meet me clandestinely, attired in European
garments, and we will leave by the steamer for Marseilles, where we can
marry."

I uttered these passionate words scarce knowing what thoughts I
expressed.  As soon as they had left my mouth I was filled with regret.

"No.  Ask me not," she replied, firmly.  "Already, by bringing thee
hither, by unveiling before thee, and by suffering thee to kiss me, I
have invoked the Wrath.  The curse is already upon me, and--and, alas!
I shall pay the penalty soon enough," she added, with a touch of gloomy
sadness.

"What dost thou mean?"  I asked, gazing into her beautiful, entrancing
face.

"It meaneth that I, Zoraida Fathma, am consumed by that sorrow and
despair that is precursory of death; that Eblis hath set his fatal seal
upon me--that I am doomed!"

Her lustrous eyes, with their arched and darkened brows, looked into
mine with an expression of intensity and desperation, and she glanced
furtively, as if in fear, into the distant corner of the room, where the
light from the great lamp of beaten brass did not penetrate.

"Thine enigmas are puzzling," I said.  "What evil canst thou fear?"

A shudder ran through her slim frame.  Then she clutched my hand and
tightly held it.

"I cannot--I--It is forbidden that I should love thee, O Cecil," she
said, sighing and setting her teeth firmly.

"Why?"

"Because a greater and more insurmountable obstacle than our difference
of race and creed preventeth it."

"But tell me what it is?"  I demanded.

"_Isbir showhyyah_," ("Have patience a little"), she replied.  "Though I
may love thee, my Amin, thou canst never be my husband.  I am as much a
captive as any of my slaves, and, alas! far, far more unhappy than
they."

Why did she have slaves?  I wondered.  Slavery in Algeria had, I knew,
been abolished since the overthrow of the Dey, although in the far
south, beyond the Areg, the tribes still held many in bondage.

"Unhappy?"  I cried.  "What is the cause of thy misery?  Art thou
thyself a slave, or--or art thou wedded?"

She started, staring at me with a strange expression.

"I--I love thee!" she stammered.  "Is not that sufficient?  If I wish at
present to conceal certain facts, why dost thou desire me to tell lies
to _thee_?  To my woman Messoudia thou didst take oath to seek no
further information beyond what I give thee."

"True, O Zoraida," I said.  "Forgive me.  Yet the mystery that
surroundeth thyself is so puzzling."

"I know," she said, with a tantalising laugh.  "But when a woman loves,
it is imprudent of her to compromise herself;" and she beat an impatient
tattoo with her fingers, with their henna-stained nails, upon a
_derbouka_ lying within her reach.

I did not reply.  I was engrossed in thought.  All that she had said
made it plainer to me that she was the wife of Hadj Absalam.

She watched me in silence.  Then, with a sudden impetuousness, she
sprang from her divan, and, standing up, flung her arms about my neck,
kissing me passionately.  The silk of her _serroual_ rustled, her
bangles jingled, and in her quick movement she lost her remaining
slipper, and stood barefooted, a veritable Queen of the Harem, a houri
of Paradise.

"Hark!" she whispered, starting in alarm as we stood locked in each
other's arms, while I rained kisses upon her fair face.  "Hark!" she
cried.  "Listen!  What was that?"

I held my breath, but could detect nothing.

"My foolish fancy, I suppose," she added, a few moments later, after she
had strained her ears to again catch the sounds that had alarmed her.
"Think!  If we were betrayed!  It would mean torture and death!" she
said hoarsely, and, disengaging herself from my arms, she walked quickly
over to the opposite wall, and, drawing aside a heavy curtain, reassured
herself that a door it concealed was securely bolted.

Returning, she flung herself upon her divan among her cushions and
motioned me to a seat beside her.  Then, taking from the little
mother-of-pearl stool a box of embossed gold filled with cigarettes, she
offered me one, and, lighting one herself, reclined with her head thrown
back gazing up to me.

"We are more than friends, Ce-cil," she said presently, thoughtfully
watching the smoke that curled upward from her rosy lips.  "I only wish
it were possible that I could leave this land and go to thine.  Ah!  If
thou couldst but know how dull and colourless is my life, how rapidly my
doom approaches--how horrible it all is!"

"What is this strange destiny that the Fates have in store for thee?"  I
asked, mystified.

"Have I not already told thee that thy curiosity cannot be satisfied?"

"Yes.  But I love thee," I protested.  "Surely I may know the character
of any danger that threateneth?"

She shook her head, and, taking my hand, noticed upon my finger a plain
gold signet ring that had belonged to my father.  Slowly she drew it off
and placed it upon her middle finger, saying, "I take this in
remembrance of to-night."

"But is there nothing I can do to avert this mysterious evil which thou
apprehendest?"  I asked.

She did not reply.  With her face turned towards the painted ceiling,
her dark, serious eyes gazed away into space.  Her bare breast, with its
profusion of pearls and diamonds, heaved and fell as she breathed, and
the sweet odour of rose and geranium that pervaded her filled my
nostrils with intoxicating fragrance.

"Why canst thou not escape from here?"  I continued.  "If danger
threateneth, fly from it.  I will assist thee.  And is not Allah
merciful?  He giveth life and death."

"_Hakk_," she replied.  "Yet to leave this place unobserved would be
impossible.  I have been able by a ruse to gain thine admittance here,
but any attempt to leave would only result in my death."

"Are not thy servants amenable to bribery?"  I suggested.

"Alas! as they are my slaves, so are they my gaolers.  They are charged
with my safe custody, and if I eluded their vigilance, they would pay
the penalty of their negligence with their lives.  Ah! thou knowest not
the more terrible of the tortures practised by my people.  Thou knowest
not the Ennitra.  Soon I shall return again to the Ahaggar, and then the
Great Desert and the Atlas will separate us.  For me escape is
impossible.  Thou wilt go to thine own land ere many moons, and--and
forget me!"

"Never!"  I exclaimed, vehemently.

"Thou wilt marry one of thine own women who have no prejudices, and who
may go unveiled, like those who come to Mustapha at Ramadan."

"No, Zoraida," I said; "I love only thee."

She gazed long and earnestly into my eyes, at the same time toying with
my ring.

"And thou art ready to serve me implicitly?" she inquired eagerly.

"I am.  Command me."

"Then know, O Cecil, my life is at stake," she said, in a low, hoarse
whisper, drawing herself up with one arm still entwined tenderly about
my neck.

"Why art thou threatened?"  I asked, in surprise.

"Because I--because I am guilty of a crime; I possess the secret of a
hidden marvel.  Having dared to penetrate the hideous mysteries of
Eblis, one of them, undreamed of and astounding, hath been revealed unto
me.  Its knowledge placeth in my hands a secret power that I might use
with fearful effect, but the awful curse hath now fallen upon me, and I
am doomed.  Only thy willing assistance can save me.  Yet"--and she
paused.  "Yet I feel doubtful whether thou, a Roumi, wouldst dare to
undertake the mission that is necessary for my safety; whether thou
couldst place sufficient confidence in me to carry out instructions
which to thee may seem so extraordinary."

"I have perfect trust in thee," I said.  "I am ready from this moment to
serve thee blindly, implicitly, if I can save thee and further the
prospect of our marriage."

"Marriage?  No! no!  Do not speak of it now," she exclaimed hastily.
"Hast thou never heard of the truth uttered by our Harikar al-Hakim, who
said, `Marriage is a joy for a month and a sorrow for a life, and the
paying of settlements, and the breaking of the back under a load of
misery, and the listening to a woman's tongue.'  To thee I can promise
nothing, for my life may end at any moment."

"But thy death can be averted.  How?"

"By rendering me assistance thou canst save me from the awful physical
and mental torture--from the horrors of the grave.  Wilt thou consent to
become my secret agent?"

"Yes.  I am ready to perform any task thou mayest require of me."

"Then remember the oath of secrecy thou didst take before Messoudia
brought thee hither; for, first of all, thou, trusting to thine own
Deity, must enter with me into the presence of the Great Unknown."

And as she touched a little silver gong, the great negro in handsome
blue livery, who had announced me, entered the harem and prostrated
himself before his mistress until his forehead touched the carpet; while
two houris, in clinging robes of white silk, entered bearing a great
gold bowl of sweet perfume in which Zoraida, with an imperious gesture,
washed her hands, and bade me follow her example.

"Thou wilt not be timid," she asked, "even though we go voluntarily
together to the very threshold of the grave; even though we may
peradventure taste of the horrors of death?"

"No," I replied, endeavouring to remain calm.

My nerves were strung to their highest pitch, and my heart beat quickly.
I stood breathless, watching one of the houris, who lit a small gold
lamp that burned with a thin blue flame.  What, I wondered, was the
character of the strange scene I was about to witness?  Zoraida, my
enchanting Pearl of the Harem, and I were going together voluntarily
into the presence of the Great Unknown!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

SEEKING THE UNKNOWN.

Having placed the quaintly-shaped lamp on the pearl and silver stool in
the centre of the harem, the negro went out, returning immediately with
a small bronze urn marvellously chased, which on bended knee he
carefully handed to his mistress.  At a word from Zoraida, her women and
the tall Soudanese prostrated themselves facing the table, pressing
their foreheads to the carpet.  Then, turning to me, she said in deep
earnestness--

"Knowest thou that the deeds we are about to commit are a terrible
sacrilege?  Though thou wilt witness strange things, yet peradventure
they may cost us our lives--nay, our very souls."

"Why?"  I asked, somewhat alarmed at her sudden seriousness.  "Is it
imperative that we should risk everything?"

"Every sin beareth its fruit," she replied, as, slowly rising from her
divan and holding above her head the urn the negro had brought, she
added, "Hath not the Prophet told us that when the earth shall be shaken
by a violent shock, and the mountains shall be dashed to pieces and
shall become as dust scattered abroad, we shall be separated into three
distinct classes?  Those who have preceded others in the Faith shall
precede them to Paradise.  The Companions of the Right Hand shall go and
dwell in the Gardens of Delight, among lote trees free from thorns and
trees of mauz always fruitful; but the Companions of the Left Hand--how
miserable shall they be!  They who, like ourselves at this moment,
invoke the secret power of Eblis the Terrible, will dwell amidst the
burning winds under the shade of the great black smoke.  They are the
damned, for they, in their error, have gone astray in the Valley of
Perdition.  Then know, O Roumi! that thou hast chosen to accompany me
unto the dreaded Shrine of Darkness, to seek of the beneficent Granter
of Requests what is hidden, to face the terrors of the tomb, so that
thou mayest hold over thy fellows a power terrific, fatal, awful!"

Her eyes were dilated, filled with a strange, unnatural light, and I
stood aghast at her solemn speech.

"Art thou not one of the chosen?"  I asked.  "Art thou not--"

"Hold thy peace!" she commanded.  Then, holding forth the bronze urn,
she exclaimed, "See! in this vessel are the ashes of the great
Masinissa, the Numidian king, whose body was entombed at Medrassen two
thousand years ago.  By their light we will search for the Great
Unknown."

With a sudden movement she took from the urn a small handful of white
dust, and, holding it high over the lamp, sprinkled it slowly into its
faint blue flame.  In a moment the place was illuminated by a white
glare so brilliant that I was compelled to shade my blinking eyes with
my hands, while at the same time the apartment was filled with a dense
smoke of a light green hue, but so pungent as to plunge me into the
agonies of asphyxiation.

Thrice she threw into the flame the ashes of the King; thrice she
uttered strange words in a drawling monotone, that were repeated by the
three servants who lay prostrate and appalled.  Then, dipping her finger
in the dust, she drew it across my forehead from left to right, and
afterwards made the same sign across her own bejewelled brow and across
her bare breast.

"Rise," she said, turning to her servants.  "Bring hither the elixir.
Then leave us."

All three scrambled to their feet in haste to do the bidding of their
imperious mistress, and, after the lapse of a few moments, the two
houris in white reappeared, one bearing a tiny bowl containing a
colourless liquid, while the other brought between her fingers a long
thin poignard, the hilt of which was studded with rubies and turquoises.
When they had placed them beside the lamp, and the heavy curtains had
fallen behind the two girls, Zoraida turned her great dark eyes upon me,
exclaiming--

"Thou wilt ere long learn a wonderful secret which hath been revealed to
none on earth except myself.  Already hast thou taken an oath never to
disclose what thou mayest see between these walls.  Know, O Cecil! that
by thy passionate love for me thou wilt bind thyself to one who can
produce strange effects from simple causes, and who can show thee
wonders undreamed of.  Yonder knife and potion will bind thy soul unto
mine; thou wilt become one of the Companions of the Left Hand, whose
habitation is the shadowless Land of Torment, where the burning wind
scorches and water scalds like boiling pitch."

"Is there then no hope for those who love thee?"  I asked, so mystified
and my senses so dulled by the curious odour of the smoke, that I scarce
knew what words escaped me.

"None," she replied, sighing.  "Neither rest, mercy, nor the Garden of
Delights can fall to the lot of he who loveth me."

"Why?"

"Because, by regaining the wondrous secret lost to the world for so many
ages, the mark is set indelibly upon thee.  Knowest thou not what is
written in Al Koran?  The Prophet hath declared that when the heavens
shall be rent in sunder and shall become red as a rose and shall melt
like ointment, then neither man nor genius shall be asked concerning his
sin.  The wicked will be known by their marks, and they shall be taken
by the forelocks and the feet and cast into the place of grievous
torments."

"Yes," I said.  "But why is the search after this hidden force an act of
such heinous wickedness?"

"Because the secret is only to be obtained at the Shrine of Darkness.
Dost thou, after the warnings I have given thee, still consent to
accompany me among the Companions of the Left Hand--to gain the
knowledge that is forbidden?"

I gazed upon her marvellous beauty.  Her magnificent eyes, bright as
those of the gazelle, were turned to mine with a look of earnest appeal
as the little hand I held trembled with suppressed excitement.  The
mystic rite she had practised had intoxicated me with a burning desire
to learn more of these strange revelations that she promised, and,
dazzled by her loveliness, I was utterly reckless of the future.

"I do not fear," I replied.  "I place implicit confidence in thee, and
am prepared to serve thee, and to seek the wisdom so long withheld."

"_Ibtida-an_," she exclaimed.  "Thou, the Amin, must be inoculated with
the elixir;" and, taking up the gleaming poignard, she felt its point.
"It is a deadly decoction.  One drop is sufficient to cause death, yet,
strangely enough, three drops have only the effect of stimulating the
brain and preparing the vision for the strange things of which thou must
remain a silent witness."

Taking my hand in hers, she pushed back the sleeve of my coat, exposing
my arm.  Then, grasping a small rod of glass that lay beside the bowl,
she dipped it in the liquid and allowed a single drop to fall upon my
flesh.  It burned and ate into my arm like an acid, causing me to draw
back quickly in pain, but ere I realised her intention, she had raised
the dagger and made a punctured wound, thus allowing the poison to enter
my veins and mingle with my blood.

"Quick!  The second drop!" she cried, dipping the rod into the bowl
again.

"It feels like molten metal," I gasped, drawing my arm away.  "It--"

"Do not hesitate," she exclaimed concernedly.  "If thou dost not receive
the three drops into thy veins, the poison will prove fatal.  Come, let
me conclude the formality;" and, grasping me firmly, she placed another
spot of the acid upon my arm and punctured the flesh with her knife,
repeating the operation a third time, until I had been fully inoculated
with the mysterious virus.

Then, stretching forth her own well-moulded white arm, whereon I noticed
several small red spots,--which she explained were the marks of previous
inoculations,--she stuck the point of the dagger three times into her
own delicate flesh, until the blood flowed and the fluid she had placed
upon the spots was wholly absorbed.

Casting the dagger from her with an expression of repugnance, she passed
her hand quickly across her brow, saying--

"Henceforward, O Cecil, an affinity existeth between us.  Though
deserts, mountains, and rolling seas may separate us, our souls will
hold converse.  We shall no longer be strangers."

The poison was taking effect upon me.  Its action was slow, but a
strange, sickening giddiness crept over my brain, a feeling that the
objects around me were gradually fading.  Even Zoraida's voice sounded
hollow and distant in the dreamy half-consciousness that the secret
decoction of my enchantress produced.

Was she, so young, so eminently handsome, so bewitching, the ingenious
sorceress who, according to the rumour current among the Spahis,
directed the movements of Hadj Absalam and his daring band of outlaws?
Could it be possible that beneath those fair features was a heart so
brutal and depraved as to plot murder, robbery, and horrible atrocities?
As she stood before me in her dainty silks and flashing gems, she had
no appearance of a wild freebooter and desert-wanderer, but rather that
of an Oriental child of Fortune into whose languorous life the demon
ennui had entered.

Had she not, however, called herself the Daughter of the Sun?  Was not
that the name by which the _homards_ knew the guiding star of the
murderous Ennitra?

"Hearken, O Cecil!" she said, placing her hand suddenly to her breast as
if a pain shot through her heart.  "The inoculation is accomplished, and
life is now fast ebbing--we are dying--"

"Poisoned!"  I gasped, alarmed.  "Thou dost not mean that the three
punctures will prove fatal?"

"Thou, the Amin, hast placed thy faith in me.  Of a verity will I reveal
unto thee that which is known to me alone.  Only by thus inviting death
can we seek converse with the Great Unseen who ruleth the Kingdom of
Shades.  Our mental power, our sensibility, our very souls must be
severed from our bodies and concentrated into separate existence, ere we
may seek the knowledge that giveth us power.  Even now at this moment
our souls are parting from our bodies, the dim spark of life flickers,
and we stand together on the threshold of the grave!"

I was touched and awed by the extraordinary change that came over her
while she had been speaking.  Something in her tone appealed to my
sympathy, while at the same time her words made my heart sink.  A woman
lying in her coffin, ready to be buried alive, might have had such a
strain in her voice.  Her face was white, with that ghastliness which
comes in extreme moments to a brunette, and her eyes, starting from
their sockets, burned with a dusky, deep-set brilliance.  When her
voice, that sounded in my ears like a far-off wail, had ceased, she
stood motionless, and her countenance assumed an inscrutable mask of
quiet, almost serene resignation, behind which something suggested
immeasurable depths of poignant suffering.  Pale, haggard, and
deathlike, she gazed at me with dry, half-parted lips.  Then I saw in
her wild eyes the fearful but unmistakable light of madness!

I was appalled at the slow, mysterious transformation of the woman I
loved.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

AT THE SHRINE OF DARKNESS.

Under the singular magnetism of her lustrous eyes, I stood dazed,
speechless, fascinated.  My head throbbed with the burning of fever, my
throat contracted, my limbs trembled as if palsied, and my heart was
filled with an all-consuming terror.

Truly I was on the brink of the grave; I was peering into the yawning
chasm of the Unknown.  Suddenly an awful thought occurred to me.  Was
Zoraida, my idol, insane?

Bewildered and blinded in the rose-mist of happiness, the deepest
significance of her strange actions had been entirely lost to me.  Love
had predominated everything, for the gracefulness of my Pearl of the
Harem had so far surpassed expectation, so dwarfed all former visions of
feminine attractiveness, that I had been struck to the heart by her
first glance after the veil had fallen from her countenance.  Therefore,
was it not possible that, in failing to regard her extraordinary acts as
those of a person whose mind was unbalanced, I had foolishly allowed
myself to fall a victim to her homicidal tendencies?  Though I strove to
remain calm, I involuntarily shuddered.  I tried to speak, but my tongue
clave to the roof of my mouth and refused to articulate.

"_Al-an_.  We are ready," she exclaimed at last, still keeping her
bright eyes fixed upon me.  "With our souls distinct from our bodies, we
may now seek the knowledge withheld from mankind.  Thou hast, I know,
believed me to be a common charlatan, a sorceress who imposeth upon
those who put their faith in occult arts.  Now, however, that we love
each other; now that our souls are wedded in the Unseen, I will invoke
the revelation of the extraordinary secret, which, if it pleaseth the
Great Unknown, thou shalt hold as my pledge.  Prepare thine eyes for the
witnessing of strange marvels, and follow me."

Walking towards me, she raised her face to mine, kissing me fondly,
then, slowly drawing back, she passed her hand quickly over her aching
forehead, and, bidding me accompany her, tottered forward to the hidden
door which previously in the evening she had ascertained was secure.

"_Addonya dar gorour_," ("The world is a house of deceit"), she said,
drawing a small key from her bosom.  "In the grave there is none.
Hovering as we now are, between life and death, with the conquest of the
soul over the impulses of the body, we may catch a glimpse of the
Unknown.  Therefore, let us go down and search for light at the Shrine
of Darkness.  _Nahhi hatha_."

The ancient key grated in the lock, and the ponderous door swung slowly
open, revealing a narrow stone passage, the darkness of which was
cavernous and impenetrable.  Taking up the lamp into which she had
sprinkled the ashes of Masinissa, she passed through the door, bidding
me close it and follow her.  Her face was pale and determined, and her
wealth of dark hair, that had become unbound, fell to her waist in
luxuriant profusion.  I crossed the threshold into the close, damp
passage, and pulling the door behind me it clanged loudly, the lock
securing itself with an ominous snap.

I knew I was a prisoner in this, the innermost and secret chamber of the
harem, and held my breath in expectation and alarm.  Her sequins tinkled
as she walked firmly and upright with the little lamp held high above,
as down the long stone corridor that was evidently cut in the thickness
of the wall I stumbled on after her, with reeling head and unsteady
gait.  A strange, sickly odour of cinnamon and musk filled my nostrils,
the air was hot and offensive, and upon the rough-hewn walls lodged the
dust of ages.  A door at the end of the passage groaned as she pushed it
open, and the dim light revealed a passage still narrower, running at
right angles to that which we had traversed.  Down this we walked in
silence, until our progress was barred by a thick curtain of dark plush.

Halting, she turned towards me.  In her countenance a change had been
effected that startled me.  The poison with which she had inoculated
herself had wrought a terrible transformation.  Round her fine, clear,
luminous eyes were large dark rings that gave her bloodless face an
expression of haggard hideousness, the bloom of youth had faded from her
cheeks, now sunken, and her mouth was hard and drawn, showing the agony
she was suffering.

"Thou art ill," I exclaimed in alarm.  "Let me assist thee."

"No," she replied huskily.  "It is the crucial test.  Preserve thine own
courage, and now, ere we enter the Shrine of Darkness that is the portal
of the Kingdom of Shades, let me urge thee, O Cecil! to maintain a level
head and clear judgment.  Examine what thou seest by the light of
reason.  Thou hast bound thyself irrevocably to me by the burning of the
ashes and the puncture of the poignard, and together we are seeking that
knowledge that will give us power over our fellow-creatures.  Ours is a
solemn investigation, to be undertaken in no spirit of idle curiosity or
frivolity, for of a verity we are both fast sinking to the grave, and it
is only in our dying moments that the Great Secret of the Unseen World
that is forbidden to the living may be revealed unto us."

"I fear not while thou art my companion," I replied, determined not to
betray nervousness, although the sickening and excruciating pains in my
head caused everything to appear dim and hazy as a dream.

"And to the world thy lips will remain for ever sealed?  _Awa lam_?" she
asked in earnestness.

"I have pledged myself to preserve silence," I replied.

"Then enter to the Shrine, and perfect peace be upon thee," she said,
summoning all her courage and drawing aside the curtain.

Upon the threshold of a grim, dark chamber I stood dumbfounded and
amazed at the strange sight that presented itself to my gaze.  The
apartment was not very large, but the roof was vaulted, the arches were
curiously wrought, and by the ruddy light diffused by a single hanging
lamp, I saw it was a weird and altogether extraordinary place.  Upon the
floor was a black carpet, soft as velvet, around the walls were several
rich divans, and behind a fine latticework of marble at the farther end
of the luxurious dungeon--for such it seemed to be--was a circular altar
of agate, jasper, and gold, over which a burning censer of gold was
swung by an unseen hand.  Behind the altar a large luminous star shone
above with a dull red glow, and upon the altar itself stood a small
brazier which, burning brightly, rendered the atmosphere close and
oppressive.

Such was the extraordinary scene that met my dazzled eyes as I moved
forward into the secret chamber.

Zoraida, rushing wildly on before me and uttering a loud cry, fell upon
her knees before the altar, bowing until her lips touched the carpet, at
the same time murmuring some strange incantation that I could not
understand.  So rapidly did she repeat the words, and so quickly she
swayed her body backwards and forwards, that she was at last seized with
hysteria.  Suddenly regaining her feet, she raised her hands above her
head, uttering a curious supplication in some language with which I was
unacquainted.

At that moment I made an alarming discovery.  There was a slight
movement on the carpet, and, bending to examine it, I was horrified to
find that upon the floor were venomous snakes!  On the divans asps were
lying, with their flat heads erect within their coils, together with
vipers and scorpions.  On every side tiny brilliant eyes seemed watching
us, and now and then a slight hiss was heard from the remoter corners of
the place.  But Zoraida heeded them not.  At the door she had kicked off
her embroidered slippers, and now walked barefooted among the reptiles.

When she had concluded her strange prayer, she crossed the chamber
hastily, and, tossing the velvet cushions and striped silk covering from
one of the divans, there was disclosed an ancient tomb of carved
sardonyx that was crumbling by age.

Grasping my hand, she then led me to the altar, whispering to me to
prostrate myself before it.  Hand in hand we passed the marble screen
and threw ourselves down, kissing the ground; then, as we rose, she drew
from her breast a small stiletto and pricked her wrist three times with
its keen point.  Holding it over the burning brazier, she allowed the
blood to drip slowly into the fire, each drop hissing loudly as it
touched the live coals.

Once she groaned, and a shudder went over her like the passing of the
wind of sundown over still water.  Then, in a firm voice, she
exclaimed--

"Blessed be they who overcome human folly, vanity, and error.  Blessed
be they to whom the wondrous manifestations of the Terrible Unknown are
accorded, for they shall be concealed under the dome of magnificence,
and veiled by the curtain of purity.  We, Companions of the Left Hand,
on whom, alas! no peace resteth, present ourselves in quest of the
knowledge of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, so that our lives may be
united and our happiness assured.  Fervently pray we that an assurance
of favour may be granted unto us, and that the Great Secret, dead to the
world through so many ages, may be revealed."

Scarcely had she uttered these words, when from the still swinging
censer there rose a single puff of thick smoke.  Zoraida was watching
for it, and as the smoke dissolved, she remarked to me in low,
impressive tones--

"Behold! our petition hath been stamped by the seal of response!  It is
well.  Our quest will not be in vain."  Then, after a pause, she added,
"Thou, O Roumi! hast believed I am a sorceress and a charlatan.  Come
hither."

She walked to the sarcophagus, and, grasping the stone that formed the
lid, pushed it off with almost superhuman effort, so that it fell
heavily down behind.  Then, taking up the lamp she had brought, she held
it over the stone coffin and bade me gaze into it.  With eager eyes I
obeyed her, but started back in horror.

It contained a corpse!

An old man of pale complexion, with long white beard, and dressed in the
habiliments of the grave, lay stretched with upturned face, motionless
in death.

"This man, a holy marabout, died, and entered the Garden of Delights
three years ago, yet, behold! his body hath not decayed.  His misery
hath been changed to peace and his grief to tranquillity," she observed.
"That he is actually dead prove for thyself.  Touch him."

I bent, placing my hand upon his white cheek.  Its contact thrilled me.
It seemed icy as marble!  The sightless eyes seemed to gaze into mine
with a grim, stony stare, and I drew away my hand as if I had been
stung.

"_Howa-tha_!" she cried.  "I will prove further that there is no life;"
and, raising the knife in her hand, she plunged it into the breast of
the corpse.

"Art thou satisfied that he is really dead?" asked Zoraida grimly.

"Yes," I answered, shuddering, for my whole surroundings in that
subterranean Chamber of the Serpents were so uncanny, that I began to
long for light and fresh air.  Was she performing all these strange
rites merely for the purpose of impressing and mystifying me; or was she
an enthusiastic devotee of some secret sect of Al-Islam?  To poison
one's self before invoking the aid of the occult seemed an extraordinary
proceeding, and the whole of the rites were so curious, that, fascinated
as I was by the mysticism of the East, I regarded them with the most
intense interest.

"At the Shrine of Darkness death loseth its sting," she said.  "To
communicate with Eblis, the Terrible, it is necessary that one who is
already a dweller in the Garden of Delights shall return to life and
assist us.  Here, in this charnel-house, the abode of death and of the
serpents, strange knowledge may be imparted; but ere we proceed further,
the sacrifice must be made."

Snatching up a viper that lay coiled upon one of the divans, she grasped
it dexterously near the head, and, walking to the altar, held it for a
few moments above the burning brazier, repeating some weird word's,
then, as the reptile squirmed under the pain, she dropped it upon the
burning coals.

Flinging herself upon her knees, with her hands outstretched above her
head, she again invoked the aid of the mysterious Power.  Pushing back
her hair, that had fallen over her shoulders, she again rose, and,
coming towards me, exclaimed--

"Watch, and I will reveal unto thee the terrible power of Eblis that
hath been imparted unto me.  _Catha_!"

She looked more haggard than before.  The strain upon her nerves was
evidently awful.  Taking my hand, she led me back to the sarcophagus,
repeating some words in such a low tone as to be inaudible.  Suddenly
she dashed forward, and with her right hand made mysterious passes over
the face of the corpse.

"Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala, chosen of the Merciful.  Peace!  Again I call
upon thee, holy man of the Faith, tenant of the tomb of dignity and
light of the eyes of the discerning, to assist this Roumi to the sight
of the Crescent of Wonders, for none save myself knoweth aught of the
way thither.  Blessing upon thee, and great peace on those who went
before thee!"

She paused.  There was a wild look in her eyes, and her bare bosom
heaved and fell quickly.

"Arise!" she cried in a loud voice.  "I, Zoraida Fathma, Daughter of the
Sun, command thy soul and body to reunite for brief space, so that thou
mayest minister at this our sacred Shrine."

A sound came from the ancient stone tomb like a long, deep-drawn sigh.
There was a slight movement, and then, as I gazed in speechless
expectancy, the corpse of the aged marabout slowly rose from its
resting-place, white, rigid, and ghastly.  The amazing resurrection
appalled me.  I stood with bated breath, my eyes were riveted upon the
weird figure, and I was rooted to the spot.  The hair upon my head was
lifted as corn is lifted when the wind ceases suddenly, and the sweat
rolled from my brow.  Truly, this mysterious woman to whom I had
voluntarily and blindly bound myself was gifted with some weird power
that was utterly amazing and incomprehensible.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE CRESCENT OF GLORIOUS WONDERS.

Slowly the dead marabout stepped from his tomb and stood erect before
me.

He glided mechanically, rigidly; his limbs did not bend, neither did his
eyes move.  In his grave-clothes he looked hideous, for so thin was his
face that the bones could be seen beneath the brown withered skin, and
his fleshless fingers with long nails had the appearance of talons.

"Thou hast never before witnessed the return of the dead to the world!"
Zoraida exclaimed, noticing how scared I was.

"Is he really dead?"  I asked, feeling somewhat sceptical, and beginning
to think I was being imposed upon by some ingenious trickery.

"Dead?  I call thee to witness!" she cried, and again drawing her long,
keen dagger, she plunged it for the second time into his side.

There was no doubt that it had penetrated.

"Enough!"  I gasped.  "It is sickening."

"Thou art at last convinced.  Good!" she said, withdrawing the knife.
Then, turning to the man she had recalled from the grave, she addressed
him--

"Greeting to thee who followeth the guidance.  Thou who hast enjoyed the
pleasures of the Garden of Delights among the Companions of the Right
Hand, and hast tasted the sweet waters of Salsabil, knowest the Secret
of the Crescent.  I, who fear the Omnipotent Avenger, command thee to
intercede, that I may gain knowledge whereby to triumph over the Satans
of Eblis--on whom may the Merciful not have mercy--and henceforward find
perfect peace."

Zoraida looked frightened herself, trembling like a slender cord
suspended in a well, yet standing erect and queenly, with her jewels
flashing and gleaming with dazzling brilliancy.  To her words, however,
the marabout made no reply.  He remained motionless as a statue, gazing
straight at me with his black glassy eyes.

Picking up an asp, a symbol of the Aissawa, that was darting over the
carpet, Zoraida placed it in his icy hand.  His bony fingers gripped the
reptile as in a vice as slowly he moved across the strange apartment,
and, without uttering a sound, sacrificed it on the blazing brazier.

Motioning me to kneel, and sinking upon her knees at my side, the woman
I adored twisted a serpent around her head, and flung herself forward
with her lips pressed to the sable carpet.  Venomous reptiles were
around us, but none ventured to attack.  Indeed, she had kicked a viper
aside with her bare foot as unconcernedly as if it had been an almond
husk.

Strange passes were being made by the dead saint, standing at the altar
with his back to us, and as he performed the mystic rite in silence I
noticed that the smoke from the censer became thicker, and the fire in
the brazier glowed until the iron seemed at white heat.  Bowing slowly
three times, the marabout stretched forth his hands above his head, and,
turning, faced us.

Zoraida's strained voice broke the silence.

"Blessed be he to whom the lifetime of the ruby is as the lifetime of
the rose.  O thou of exalted dignity, behold me, the least and least
worthy of all them that praise the One worthy of praise.  May I never
endure prosperity as a gift from the accursed, for I seek the Secret of
the Crescent, and ask of the One of unbounded favour and infinite bounty
that which thou alone canst reveal."

Again the marabout faced the altar, again he made passes over the fierce
fire.  The censer, still kept swinging by some unseen power, emitted a
column of thick smoke, the odour of which, at first sulphurous, then
sensuous and overpowering, caused me to feel intolerably drowsy.  Then
suddenly, with a noise as loud as the firing of a pistol, a great rent
appeared in the stone front of the altar, as the slab of jasper broke in
twain and a portion fell to the ground.

"Lo! it is at last revealed!" cried Zoraida, turning to me excitedly.
"Life remaineth unto us!  The poison will take no further effect, since
we shall possess the Great Secret."

Bowing to earth, the marabout approached close to the altar, and,
dropping upon one knee, placed his hand in the aperture that had been so
suddenly created.  From the hole he drew forth a semicircular box of
time-stained leather, about twelve inches across, and, opening it
carefully, took therefrom a piece of rusted iron, shaped in the form of
a crescent, about two inches wide in the centre and tapering to horns at
each end.  Its form was almost like a sickle, covered with strange
hieroglyphics deeply graven, and it was about a quarter of an inch in
thickness in every part, with a notch in the centre, as if another
portion that had once been welded to it had been broken away.

Zoraida, still kneeling, eagerly watched the ghastly figure, who, bowing
once again, held the strange object over the flame until it became
heated.

"Beseech of the Power, O Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala, if the secret may be
wholly revealed unto the Roumi," she said in a loud, clear voice.

Again the corpse that had been awakened from its sardonyx casket bowed
and raised its hands aloft in obedience to her request, as we all three
watched the censer.  The thin column went slowly up, but the puff of
thick smoke--that seemed to be regarded as a sign of the affirmative--
was not emitted.  Yet again the marabout bowed in silent intercession,
but, though we waited for some minutes, no reply was vouchsafed.

"Thou art not a True Believer, O Cecil," Zoraida said, in bitter
disappointment.  "The Great Secret, although revealed unto me, is
withheld from thy knowledge.  Alas that it should be so!  Truly I bear
the yoke of misfortune and taste the venom of grief."

"Of what use is the Crescent?"  I said, regarding with curiosity the
rusted relic in the bony hand of the aged marabout.

"It is the will of the Unseen that thou mayest not know its Secret," she
replied.  "Therefore I can reveal nothing."

"But surely thou mayest tell me what it is for?"

"Not at present.  Have patience until thou hast passed beyond the
portals of this, the Kingdom of Shades."

The silent priest, having heated the iron sufficiently, placed it upon a
great gold tray, which Zoraida procured from a corner of the chamber and
held for him; then she went out, bearing it with her, and announcing her
intention of returning again immediately.  Before the broken altar the
man from the tomb stood immovable as a statue, his hands uplifted; and
there was no sound save the hissing of a snake, hiding in a corner where
the light did not penetrate.

Five minutes elapsed; they seemed an hour.  When Zoraida re-entered, she
bore the mysterious Crescent in her hand, and, strangely enough, her
face had assumed much of its usual beauty.  In her eyes a look of
happiness and contentment had succeeded that expression of mad despair
that had for the last half-hour spoiled her countenance, and she
appeared to have derived every satisfaction from the strange rites she
had practised.

"At last," she cried, "the Great Secret is again mine!  A year ago I
discovered its existence, but the mere suggestion of its use seemed so
utterly absurd, that I hesitated to seek death by the deadly potion
until absolutely compelled."

"Wert thou compelled to-night?"  I ventured to inquire.

"Yes.  Thou knowest I love thee.  It was for thy sake that I sought the
Great Secret.  Thou wert not afraid, and gave me courage to knock at the
gate of the dreaded Kingdom of Shades--to face the King of Terrors."

"And yonder marabout?  What of him?"

"He will return to the green banks of the river Al Cawthar, whence I
called him to do my bidding and act as intermediary.  See!  I will send
him back unto his sepulchre."

Advancing to where the ghastly figure was standing with transfixed gaze
without moving a muscle, she placed her hand firmly upon his shoulder.

"Know, O Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala! thy work hath ended.  Thou mayest
return to the Shadow of the Lote Tree, and to the houris awaiting thee
in the Garden beside the ever-flowing stream.  May the blessing of
Allah--Gracious Bestower of abundant benefits--ever rest upon thee and
thy sons' sons, and may the Destroyer of Mankind--on whom may the
Merciful not have mercy--have no power over them.  To thy grave I
command thee to return, to rest until I again seek thine aid to triumph
over Eblis."

She grasped his cold thin hand, and he allowed himself to be led to the
sarcophagus as meekly as a lamb.  Into his stone coffin he stepped, and
then sank back and disappeared.  A few moments later, Zoraida beckoned
me, and, standing beside the great sardonyx tomb, I peered in.  The
marabout lay stretched out as before, with wide-open, sightless eyes,
and when I touched his cheek, it was hard and icy cold.

"There is no life.  See!" she said, and, taking the knife, she once
again plunged it into the corpse, afterwards withdrawing it and
replacing it in the velvet sheath hanging at her girdle.

The old man had again returned to the Great Unknown, leaving Zoraida in
possession of the curiously-wrought piece of metal, the fantastic
inscription upon which puzzled me greatly.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

STRANGE CONFIDENCES.

Gradually the golden censer ceased swinging; the fire in the brazier
slowly died out, and the only light in the mysterious chamber was shed
by the blue flame of the lamp that had guided our footsteps thither.

"Come, let us return," she said, with a shudder.  She took up the lamp
and gazed into the cavernous darkness where the light did not penetrate.
Suddenly, just as she was about to turn towards the door, she noticed
my face, and became alarmed.

"Ah!" she cried, horrified.  "I had forgotten thee.  See; thine eyes are
already glazing.  Thou art dying!"

"Dying?"  I gasped, holding my breath.

"Yes.  Thou hast not learned the Secret of the Crescent, therefore thou
art not rendered invulnerable against the hand of the King of Terrors.
The poison hath done its work, and thy spark of life will die out like
yonder brazier."

"Why?  Dost thou mean that thou hast actually murdered me?"

"I am no murderess," she answered, reproachfully.  "Thou hast submitted
to the fatal inoculation, yet to every poison there is an antidote."
Then, drawing from her breast a little jewelled scent-bottle, about the
size and shape of a pigeon's egg, that was suspended by a chain around
her neck, she removed the cap and shook into the hollow of her hand a
small quantity of a dark brown powder.

"See! place this upon thy tongue and swallow it.  Life and health will
return to thee, and no ill effects wilt thou feel to-morrow of thy near
approach to the Realm of Silence."

She emptied it into my hand, and I swallowed it.  The drug was bitter as
gall and burned my mouth with fiery pungency, but ere I could make
another observation, she had snatched up the lamp and was disappearing
through the arched doorway.  Following, we retraced our steps along the
gloomy corridors, until at last she pushed open a door, and we found
ourselves back again in the fragrant, luxurious harem.

Placing the lamp upon one of the little tables of ebony and pearl, she
sank upon her divan exhausted, but still grasping the Crescent.  Her
long hair strayed over her shoulders and breast, and as she lay back in
utter abandon she panted as if the strain of the past hour had been too
great.  Taking one of the great silken cushions I placed it tenderly
under her wearied head, then sank upon my knee at her side.

"Tell me, Zoraida," I said.  "Tell me more of the strange scenes which I
have just witnessed.  What giveth thee the wondrous power to recall the
dead from the grave, and invoke the assistance of the Great Unknown?"

Turning her brilliant eyes to mine, she hesitated.

"True, O Cecil," she exclaimed, after a short, silent interval, "I have
power that is not vouchsafed to some; but what thou hast seen to-night
is not so wonderful as the secret contained within this piece of
Damascus steel;" and she raised the Crescent for me to gaze upon.

"What secret can a piece of metal possibly contain?"  I inquired, almost
inclined to laugh at her earnest assertion.

"Thou thinkest that I fool thee," she answered in a tone of reproach.
"I tell thee, nevertheless, that knowledge of certain things giveth me
power over both friend and enemy, power that I use at will for good or
for evil.  They who are cursed from my lips find no solace in this life,
and descend to Eblis, where hot winds blow and there is no water; but
those who have my blessing prosper, grow wealthy, and find peace."

"Have I thy blessing?"

"Thou hast," she murmured calmly, raising her lips to mine in a long,
fierce caress.  "My wishes are that thou mayest find happiness and
riches, and that thou mayest receive the mercy of the Merciful is my
heartfelt desire."

"My only happiness is at thy side," I said, with fervent promptitude.

"Ah! it is, alas! but brief," she replied, sighing.  "There are
circumstances which prevent our marriage--even though we love each other
so well."

"Circumstances?  What are they?  Tell me.  Thou always speakest in
enigmas."

"The first and most serious is the uncertainty of my life.  Even
to-night I may die;" and she raised her finely-moulded hand and
thoughtfully examined my ancient signet ring upon her finger.

"Absurd!"  I said.  "What ground hast thou for such gloomy
apprehensions?  Art thou not safe here, surrounded by every luxury, with
slaves to do thy bidding, and guarded from every evil?"

"Not from _every_ evil," she replied slowly.  "When thou art absent,
unhappiness consumeth me, and sadness, like a corrosive acid, eateth
away all life and gaiety from mine heart."

"But I may see thee more often, surely?  How long wilt thou remain
here?"

"I cannot tell," she answered, speaking like one in a dream.  "To-morrow
thou mayest only find my corpse."

"Bah!  Why entertain Despair when Joy desireth to dwell within thine
heart?  We love each other, and may meet often, even though these
mysterious circumstances of which thou speakest may, for a time, prevent
our marriage."

With a look of bitter sorrow she shook her head, replying, "No.  We must
not meet, or our friendship may prove fatal.  When I invited thee
hither, it was to impart to thee the secret of the Crescent of Glorious
Wonders that would give thee power to work for our mutual benefit.  But,
alas! thou, an infidel, mayest not learn the extraordinary truth; the
Unseen hath decreed that thou shalt remain in the outer darkness called
Ignorance."

"But how can I act in order to break down this strange barrier that
precludeth our happiness?  Hast thou--hast thou already a _husband_?"

She started.  Her lips quivered, and the colour left her cheeks.

"If I had a husband, I should not ask thee hither, neither would I dare
to enter the Kingdom of Shades with thee, a lover.  To endeavour to
learn my secret at present will be futile.  Suffice it for thee to know
that there is more mystery to penetrate than thou hast ever dreamed of,
and that only by seeking knowledge from afar canst thou hope ever to
bring us nearer to each other--to--"

A sigh finished the sentence.

"I am prepared to do anything, to go anywhere, to render thee service,"
I replied, pressing her jewelled fingers to my lips.

"Then hearken," she said, raising herself upon her arm and looking
earnestly at me.  "The secret of this, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders,
is forbidden thee; yet if thou darest to travel to a distant country far
away over the waterless regions beyond the Touareg; if thou wilt
penetrate the lands of hostile tribes in the disguise of a True
Believer, thou canst learn that which will give thee wealth and power,
and will at last bring us together."

"To marry?"

"Yes.  To marry."

"Tell me all I must do," I exclaimed excitedly.  "Can I learn that which
thou callest the Great Secret?"

"Alas! it is impossible," she replied.  "If thou wilt undertake this
perilous journey, thou shalt carry with thee the Crescent of Glorious
Wonders as my pledge that I do not deceive thee, and as a talisman
which, if thou canst learn its secret, will make thee wealthy beyond the
dreams of avarice."

"But what of thyself--what of happiness with thee?"

"Until thou hast accomplished thy mission, I shall remain with my
clansmen awaiting thee.  Remember, whatever gossip thou mayest hear, or
whatever may be revealed to thee about myself, seek no explanation.  Set
out upon thy journey as soon as possible, and travel on the wings of
haste, for the way is long and the approach difficult.  My movements
concern thee not until thy return, for although to-night thou art here
in the harem, do not forget the awful fate that awaiteth women of
Al-Islam who hold converse with Infidels.  Therefore, before I give thee
instructions, swear by thine own Deity, thine Allah, to heed nothing
that thou mayest see or hear concerning me, but perform thy journey
speedily, and learn the Great Secret ere thou seekest any explanation."

"I swear I will obey thee unswervingly.  I will act upon thy commands as
blindly and devotedly as I have to-night."

"Then know, O Cecil," she said, regaining her feet slowly and standing
erect before me, "there is but one spot on earth where the Great Secret
may be imparted unto thee, now that it hath been withheld even at the
portal of the Land of Shades.  Before thou mayest again enter my
presence, thou must have gained the power and the riches that it can
bestow.  Whilst thou art in the distant Desert I shall not forget thee;
it is even possible that secret communications may pass between us, for
do not forget that in future a fatal affinity existeth between our
souls, and that, irrespective of distance, we may have a dream-like
consciousness of each other's well-being."  Her dark eyes fixed upon me
seemed to hold me with a strange magnetism.  Truly I was under her
spell.  Even in the brief space that had elapsed, she had now entirely
reassumed her marvellous beauty.  Stretching forth her hand she poured
water from an ewer of chased silver into two drinking-cups.  Over them
both she passed her fingers swiftly, and then sipped one of them.  The
sweet odours that hung about the harem had caused a dryness in my
throat, and, raising the other cup to my lips, I took several gulps,
while she regarded me keenly.

"Shall I always know thy whereabouts?"  I asked eagerly.

"No.  There will be a certain affinity between our thoughts, but I shall
remain hidden from thee until thou hast returned."

For a few moments we were silent.  She was no longer haggard and cold as
she had been while the poison coursed through her veins, but the
rose-garden of her beauty had forthwith recovered its freshness; in the
delicate, rounded limbs and bust there glowed the natural warmth and
yielding softness of flesh and blood.  Her great lustrous eyes, standing
well apart under her darkened brows, the broad white forehead, the
perfect nose, the small, well-formed mouth, the pearly teeth, the
rounded chin, each added grace to grace.  Her beauty was perfect.

"Wilt thou remain here, or go back to the Desert with thy tribe?"  I
asked, gazing at her enraptured.

"To--to the Desert--peradventure," she replied hesitatingly.  "If the
_homards_ are thrown off our scent."

"What! are thy people about to resume their murderous marauding
expeditions?"  I asked in surprise.

"I--I know not, Cecil," she replied, laying her hand upon my arm.  "I
would prevent their terrible crimes if I could, but, alas! it is
impossible.  Thou knowest not in what constant peril I exist, or--or how
unhappy is my life.  A single imprudent word may seal my fate.  I may be
tied in a sack even to-night, and cast into the sea!"

"How can I help thee?  How can I save thee?"  I asked, with eagerness.

"Only by undertaking the journey of which I have already spoken," she
answered slowly.  "If thy mission is accomplished successfully, then
thou wilt rescue me from a cruel fate--a fate far worse than death."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A HIDDEN TRAGEDY.

So earnestly she spoke that I felt convinced there was in her life some
hideous mystery, and that those who held power over her she regarded
with abject terror.  Besides, her frequent allusions to the uncertainty
of her life made it plain that she was apprehensive of a swift and
terrible doom.

Though some of her words and actions were, strange and incomprehensible,
and the effects I had witnessed at the weird Shrine of Darkness had, I
reflected, been probably produced by some kind of mechanical ingenuity,
yet there was something even more remarkable about this Pearl of the
Harem than her entrancing beauty.  Her actions led me to the conclusion
that she was actually the woman reputed by the Ennitra to be possessed
of superhuman power, and every moment I now spent in her company
deepened my curiosity concerning her.

The mystery by which she was enveloped was puzzling.  I felt myself
bewildered.

That she was well versed in Oriental mystic, rites was certain, but
whether she had actually produced the results I had witnessed without
some ingenious trickery I was half inclined to doubt.

Nevertheless, I loved her blindly.  Her beauty fascinated me, and her
words in soft, musical Arabic that fell upon my ears entranced me.

"Then thou wilt go?" she said fondly, entwining her arm around my neck.
"Thou, the Amin, to whom may the Bestower of Good Gifts be merciful, art
willing to face all the terrors of the long journey for my sake?"

"Yes, Zoraida," I replied, looking straight into her dark orbs.
"Already thou hast saved my life.  If it lieth within my power I will
save thine."

"Then we must lose no time," she exclaimed suddenly.  Leaving me, she
crossed the harem, and took a sheet of paper and an ink-horn from a
little cabinet inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, returning to
where I was standing.  Sinking upon her soft divan, she spread out the
paper upon a little coffee-stool, and wrote in Arabic character the
following:--

"O revered servant of Allah, learned and mighty, thou whose face is as a
lamp unto those who walk in the darkness and in error stray from the
path, unto thee I send salutation.  The One Worthy of Praise made earth
for a carpet, and it is written upon the tablet that Allah, Giver of
Good Gifts, is the living One.  May he who despiseth the revelation
enter into the Companionship of the Left Hand, and dwell for ever in Al
Sahira.  To seek an elucidation of the Great Mystery, the Roumi, into
whose hands have I given the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, journeyeth
afar unto thee.  Know, O Friend, deadly peril surroundeth me.  Of a
verity the day hath come when the Great Secret may be revealed, for by
its knowledge my life may be spared.  Wherefore I beseech thee to grant
him audience, and direct his footsteps into the valley of felicity, for
assuredly mine enemies may be dumbfounded if thou wiliest.

"In fear have we flown into the refuge of patience, praying to the
Answerer of our Supplications to grant us endurance.  When our prayer
for the Great Elucidation hath been responded to, the skirts of thine
innocence shall be purified from the mire of suspicion, and--if it
pleaseth Allah--by the blessing of thy devotions will our petition be
heard, and from us will our affliction be removed.  May the Beneficent
Granter of Requests be gracious unto the Roumi and give him prosperity.
Upon thee likewise be perfect peace.  Sister."

As she carefully penned the intricate lines, I noticed for the first
time that across the back of her right hand--the hand that bore my
ring--was a small red scar about an inch in length, and I silently
wondered how it had been caused.

"There," she exclaimed at last, as she appended with a flourish the
characters "_Okht_" which apparently she used as her signature,
"together with the Crescent of Glorious Wonders convey this my message
to Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, the chief _imam_ of the mosque at Agadez.
He will understand my desire.  Tell him that thou hast accompanied me
unto the Shrine of Darkness, where I recovered the key to the hidden
mystery, but that knowledge was, alas! not imparted to thee.  He will
then instruct thee how to act."

"To Agadez?"  I echoed, dismayed, remembering that it lay far south
beyond the Great Sahara, with nearly two thousand miles of trackless and
almost waterless wilderness between it and civilisation.

"Yes; I told thee that the only spot where knowledge can be given thee,
and by which thou canst effect my rescue, was far distant.  Dost thou
fear to travel thither?"

I hesitated in uncertainty.  Well I knew how tedious and perilous would
be the long journey, for the hostility of the tribes through whose
country I should have to pass constituted a terror even as great as the
enormous difficulties and frightful hardships that I must encounter for
many weeks, perhaps months, in the Great Sahara itself.  But the earnest
look of pleading in her splendid eyes decided me.

"I will go, Zoraida.  If it is thy will, I shall start to-morrow," I
said.

"Thou wilt traverse the Great Desert for my sake--for my sake?" she
exclaimed, kissing my hand as I took the missive she had folded.  "When
I named thee the Amin I was not mistaken.  Hadj Mohammed will be
expecting thee."

"Why?"

"Because he will receive early knowledge that the Crescent of Glorious
Wonders is in thy custody.  Remember, if lost, it could never be
replaced, having been revealed and given unto us by the Power that is
all-powerful.  Thou wilt undertake this mission in order to save my
life, to save me from the horrible fate that threateneth to overwhelm
me.  When the Secret hath been imparted, and thou hast used it according
to instructions that will be given by the aged chaplain of the daily
prayers, then wilt thou return to me--and to peace."

"But how shall I find thee?  Many moons may perchance rise and fade ere
I return to Algiers."

"Assuredly I shall know thy whereabouts," she replied briefly.  "Travel
swiftly.  The horse I gave thee on the night I severed thy bonds will
carry thee back from Biskra to El Biodh.  Then with camels travel over
the vast northern Touareg and the mountains of Adrar, guarding well thy
life through Djanet until thou comest to Mount Equelles.  From there
thou wilt be compelled to guide thyself by the sun over the Desert to
the palms of Issala, where thou wilt find also dates, forage, and water.
Another long and weary course of travel will bring thee at last to
Assiou, thence journeying due south past Azarara and along the great
rocky valleys of Air, where dwell thine enemies, thou wilt at length
enter the gate of Agadez, the City of the Sorcerers, wherein the strange
mystery lieth hidden."

The exact position of Agadez was, I reflected, somewhat uncertain.
Generally believed to be about eighteen hundred miles from Algiers as
the swallow flies, it was placed by most maps at the extreme south of
the Azarara country, to the west of Lake Tsad; but among European
geographers there was a certain amount of doubt as to its exact position
and best approach, for maps of that remote district differ considerably.
However, I had decided to set out to seek this aged _imam_ for
Zoraida's sake, and meant to do my utmost to accomplish my mission.

Leaning before me in silence against a marble column, with her hands
clasped behind her head, her jewels scintillating in the softly-tempered
light, her sequins tinkling musically, her rich silks rustling, her
scented bosom rising and falling as she breathed, she looked a veritable
sultana, a woman for whom any man might have sacrificed his very soul.

"Remember always, O Cecil, that my thoughts follow thee," she said
softly.  "Remember, when thou facest the terrors which are inevitable,
that there is one woman who is trusting to thee alone to save her.
Perhaps ere long I shall return to our palace in the impenetrable
mountains beyond Tiouordeouin; nevertheless my thoughts will be
constantly of thee, for now I am convinced of thy love and fearlessness.
May Allah, the One Merciful, guard thee, and may all thine enemies
perish!"

Placing my arm slowly around her slim waist, encircled by a golden
girdle, I drew her towards me, and she kissed me with hot feverish lips.

"I cannot bear the thought, Zoraida, that thou mayest wander again with
thy relatives and clansmen over the burning Desert, and witness those
awful scenes of plunder and massacre.  Ah! if I could but think that
thou wouldst be safe here during my absence."

She sighed, toying with the jewelled scent-bottle suspended upon her
breast, the little trinket that contained the antidote.

"Already have I told thee my life is very uncertain," she exclaimed
gloomily.  "Even to-night I might fall a victim.  The tyranny of
unpropitious times hath thrown the stone of separation upon us.  I
might--"

"No, no," I interrupted.  "Thou art safe here, surely.  Be patient, and
keep a stout heart until I return.  Thou knowest I love thee dearly, and
will strive unceasingly to accomplish my mission quickly and
successfully."

"Yes.  I shall be thinking always of thee--always," she said softly.

"And when I return I shall have learned the mysterious Secret which is
so absolutely necessary for our mutual welfare."

"Ah, Cecil, my Amin!  I love thee!  I love thee!  As sure as the sun
will illumine to-morrow's dawn, so surely will I--"

Her passionate words were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the
big negro who had guarded the door of the harem.  He rushed in with a
look of abject terror upon his dark, brutal countenance, whispering some
hasty words into his mistress's ear that caused her to become agitated
and deathly pale.

"Quick!  Hasten, or I am lost!" she cried, turning to me.

"What danger threateneth?"  I inquired in surprise.

"Leave me!  Leave me!  Thou must not be discovered!" she exclaimed
breathlessly.  "Take this, the Crescent, and turn thy face towards the
Desert to-morrow.  Remember the instructions I have given thee; and,
above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or
see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez."

"I promise," I replied, as for a second I held her in my arms and our
lips met in passionate farewell.

"Quick!  The Roumi!  In Allah's name, save him!" she cried, turning to
the gorgeously-attired Soudanese who stood near, like a gigantic statue.

"Follow," he commanded; and, crossing the room, drew aside some silken
hangings, disclosing another small door, of the existence of which I had
been unaware.

I turned.  Zoraida had flung herself with languorous abandon upon her
divan, with her hand pressed to her bejewelled forehead.  Her wistful
eyes followed me, and as I waved her a last farewell, she said--

"Go, my Amin!  May Allah give thee perfect peace!"  Through the open
door we passed, and the negro, closing it, bolted it from the outside,
leaving us in total darkness.

"Keep silence.  Grasp my arm, and I will lead thee," said the man, but
ere he had uttered the words, there came from the harem a loud, piercing
shriek--the cry of a woman!

It was Zoraida's voice!

"Hark!"  I gasped, with bated breath.  "Listen!  That voice was _hers_!
Let us return."

"No," he replied gruffly.  "That is impossible."

"But the cry was one of terrible agony!"

"Slaves of the harem never interfere without orders.  Death is the
penalty of the Infidel found within the precincts sacred to the women,"
he answered coldly.

I turned to unbolt the door, but his sinewy hand grasped me by the neck,
and without any further explanation I was half dragged through several
dark, close-smelling passages, and down a flight of broken stone steps,
until we came to a heavy door.

"At least thou canst tell me who is the owner of this place," I said,
slipping a couple of gold coins into his ready palm.

"I cannot.  My mistress hath commanded my silence," he answered,
pocketing the bribe, nevertheless.

"May I learn nothing, then?"  I asked.

"No.  Our Queen of the Desert hath taken every precaution that thou
shalt obtain no knowledge of certain facts.  For her own sake secrecy is
imperative, therefore, if thou holdest her in respect, seek not to
loosen my tongue with thy gold."

Then he pushed me gently but firmly outside, and with a parting word
closed the iron-studded door again.  The key grated in the lock as it
was secured, and, gazing round, I found myself in the narrow crooked
street.

For a few moments I hesitated.  The moon shone brightly, and all was
quiet, for it was long past midnight.

After a final look at the gloomy, mysterious house, I plunged into the
labyrinth of Arab thoroughfares, and, half dazed by the strange, dreamy
experience, I walked on, descending the steep, intricate streets,
trusting to chance to bring me into the Place du Gouvernement, in the
European quarter, wherein was situated my hotel.

At last, after wandering nearly an hour, I found myself in the Rue de la
Lyre, the street of the Algerine merchants, and soon afterwards, having
awakened the sleepy Arab porter at the Regence, climbed to my room.
Opening the jalousies, I sat for a long time gazing out upon the moonlit
Mediterranean.  The soft warm wind sighed in the waving palms outside,
and shouting came up now and then from the quay, for the mail steamer
from Europe had just hove in sight.  Deeply I pondered over the strange
events of the night, wondering whether I was acting wisely in
undertaking the long journey to Agadez.  So strange were many of
Zoraida's words, that more than once was I tempted to regard her as
suffering from mental aberration, yet nevertheless I could not disguise
the fact that there was a terrible earnestness in all her words and
actions, an earnestness which fully bore out her declaration that her
life was at stake.

On the table lay the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, the leathern case of
which was evidently centuries old, for it was worm-eaten, tattered, and
crumbling.  What, I wondered, could be its power?  How could it assist
me to wealth?  How was it possible that a mere piece of steel, with its
strange geometrical inscription--that is here reproduced--could bring
Zoraida and me happiness and peace?

The idea seemed absurd, nevertheless the mystery was inscrutable.  It
added fascination to her exquisite charms, and I knew that I loved
Zoraida--I knew she held me by her spell for life or death.

Once a gloomy thought arose.  I remembered the ominous words of old Ali
Ben Hafiz; I recollected the strange Omen of the Camel's Hoof!  But I
smiled, regarding the superstition, as I had always done, as one of the
many unfounded beliefs of the Bedouins, and just as the first streak of
dawn showed above the distant peaks of Kabylia, I turned in, resolved to
get at least one night's rest in a European bed before setting out upon
my long journey from which I might perhaps never return.

For me, alas! it was a night fraught with horrors.  What I had seen in
that strange house in the Kasbah quarter came back vividly to me,
confused and distorted in my dreams.  In my horrible nightmare I thought
I saw Zoraida, the beautiful woman who loved me, struck down by an
assassin's knife.  I heard her scream, the same shrill cry of agony I
had heard after I left the harem.

This aroused me.  The sun was shining brilliantly in its clear vault of
blue; there was movement in the great square, and the _garcons de cafe_
were dusting their tables.  The scent of the flowers from the stalls
below wafted in through my open window.  I could sleep no longer, so,
dressing again, I swallowed my coffee, and went out, wandering along the
sea-shore, breakfasting _al fresco_ at the Moorish restaurant outside
the Jardin d'Essai, and spending the morning strolling alone, puzzled
and thoughtful.  Returning to the Regence at midday, the Arab porter
handed me a small wooden box about a foot in length, six inches deep,
and sealed securely with black wax.

"This came for m'sieur an hour ago," he said.

"For me?"  I exclaimed, surprised, glancing at the address, which was in
a man's handwriting.  "Who left it?"

"A Biskri servant, m'sieur.  He said it was most urgent, and I was to
deliver it immediately you returned."

Who, I wondered, had sent it?

Mounting the two flights of stone stairs hastily, I at length gained my
room.  Eagerly I cut the string, broke the great seals, and lifted the
lid.

"God!"  I cried, starting back in horror when my gaze fell upon the
object it contained.

Appalled and breathless I stood, unable to move.

Some moments elapsed before I summoned sufficient courage to again rivet
my eyes upon it.  The sight was sickening.

The box was lined with black silk, and in it there reposed a woman's
hand that had been hacked from the wrist!  It was white and bloodless.
Rings still remained upon the slim waxen fingers, the nails of which
were stained brown with henna.  I recognised them!  One was the signet
ring that had belonged to my father.  On the back of the dead hand was a
scar.  I examined it closely.  Yes! it was the same that I noticed while
the woman I adored was penning the letter to the _imam_ I now carried in
my pocket!

Trembling, I touched the lifeless fingers.  They were cold as marble.

The hideous, blood-smeared Thing that had been sent me was _the dead
severed hand of Zoraida_!

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DEAD FINGERS.

On the black silk the shrivelling, bloodless fingers lay half curved
like talons.  At first I could not bring myself to gaze upon the
mutilated hand I had so recently grasped; but at length, fascinated by
the gruesome mystery, I inspected it minutely.  On the stiffened fingers
diamonds glistened in the bar of sunlight that strayed into the room,
and my own ring remained there, a silent witness of some terrible
tragedy.

Had Zoraida been murdered?  Was she, after all, the wife of a jealous,
fanatical Moslem, who had discovered our friendship, and who had wreaked
an awful vengeance upon her?  As I stood with the horrible contents of
the box before my eyes, strange thoughts took possession of me.  With
startling vividness I pictured the woman I loved, and to whom I owed my
life, lying stark and dead, with one hand hacked away and a great ugly
wound in her white breast where the assassin's cruel knife had entered.
I seemed to see every detail of a hideous crime; on my ears there fell
the soft lapping of the sea, and the splash as the body, divested of its
silks and jewels, was hurled into the water as unceremoniously as offal
by two brutal, stalwart negroes.  Had not Zoraida been apprehensive of
danger?  Had she not told me frankly that her life was uncertain?  Yet I
had never dreamed of murder!

Alas! death comes swiftly sometimes to inmates of the harem.  To-day
Zuleika or Zohra, Kheira or Khadidja, may be the favourite, exercising
power over her lord, and holding sway through him over the world outside
her luxurious prison, but to-morrow she may be a corpse floating out
with the tide into the lonely sea.

The sight of the dead hand was sickening.  I could not bear it.
Replacing the lid upon the box, I stood for a few moments in hesitation,
then resolved to rid myself of the ghastly object that had been sent me
by an unknown enemy.  With the box under my arm, I went out into the
glaring sunlight.  Half-way across the broad Place, it occurred to me to
find the mysterious house to which old Messoudia had conducted me, and
with the severed member in my possession to seek an explanation.  Did
not our mutual pledges give me a right to demand knowledge of Zoraida's
welfare?  If she had actually fallen a victim to the caprices of a
monster, was it not my duty to investigate the affair, and bring to
justice the perpetrator of the crime?  With such thoughts I crossed the
Jews' quarter, and, ascending the long narrow Arab street, the Rue de la
Kasbah, leading through the heart of the native quarter, was soon
climbing with impatient steps the maze-like labyrinth of shady passages,
with their low dark archways and great, gloomy, prison-like houses,
among which I hoped to recognise the arched door again.  I spent a
weary, anxious afternoon.  The air was sultry, the Arabs lay stretched
on the benches in the _kahouas_, or, squatting lazily on the mats
outside, were oblivious to their surroundings.  Everything was sleepful.
Shoemakers and embroiderers who had ceased work were dozing in their
little dens, and as I trudged wearily onward, I passed only a solitary
ass with heavily-laden panniers plodding on, followed leisurely by his
master, who wore a jasmine flower behind his ear.  The stillness was
only broken by the far-off voices of some Arab urchins at their play, or
ever and anon the thumping of the _derbouka_ and the twanging of the
_guenibri_ floating out of the small closely-barred windows of the
harems fell upon my ears as I passed.  Surely mine was an unique
experience, wandering at will, and bearing with me the dead hand of the
woman I loved!

The bright blue sea was like glass, the sky cloudless, and the whole
world seemed at peace; yet I was the least peaceful.  Carrying the
casket containing the horrible souvenir, I stumbled onward, toiling
aimlessly and in vain up through the gloomy, crooked passages.  Feelings
I had never before experienced assailed me with a force that first
perplexed and then astounded me.  I was afraid; and what rather
heightened than diminished the unwonted sensation, was the fact that I
was not afraid of anything tangible either in the present or the future,
but of something mysterious and peculiar.  Every sound jarred upon my
nerves, causing the faintest murmur to seem like the utterance of a
great dread, as awful as it was 

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