t nor to
the left, nor gave any sign of pleasure or recognition. Nevertheless
the people in the streets ceased not to greet him with deafening
acclamations.

"All's well, all's well," they told each other, and pointed to the white
horse--the sign of peace--which the Sultan rode, and to the riderless
black horse--the sign of strife--that pranced behind him.

The women on the housetops also, in their hooded cloaks, welcomed the
Sultan with a shrill ululation: "Yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo!"

Not content with this, the usual greeting of their sex and nation, some
of them who had hitherto been closely veiled threw back their muslin
coverings, exposed their faces to his face, and welcomed him with more
articulate cries.

He gave them neither a smile nor a glance, but rode straight onward.
Beside him walked the fly-flappers, flapping the air before his podgy
cheeks with long scarfs of silk, and behind him rode his Ministers of
State, five sleek dogs who daily fed his appetites on carrion that his
head might be like his stomach, and their power over him thereby the
greater. After the Ministers of State came a part of the royal hareem.
The ladies rode on mules, and were attended by eunuchs.

Such was the entry into Tetuan of the Sultan Abd er-Rahman. In their
heart of hearts did the people rejoice at his visit? No. Too well they
knew that the tyrant had done nothing for his subjects but take their
taxes. Not a man had he protected from injustice; not a woman had he
saved from dishonour. Never a rich usurer among them but trembled at his
messages, nor a poor wretch but dreaded his dungeons. His law existed
only for himself; his government had no object but to collect his dues.
And yet his people had received him amid wild vociferations of welcome.

Fear, fear! Fear it was in the heart of the rich man on the housetops,
whose moneys were hidden, as well as in the darkened soul of the blind
beggar at the gate, whose eyes had been gouged out long ago because he
dared not divulge the secret place of his wealth.

But early in the evening of that same day, at the corners of quiet
streets, in the covered ways, by the doors of bazaars, among the horses
tethered in the fondaks, wheresoever two men could stand and talk
unheard and unobserved by a third, one secret message of twofold
significance passed with the voice of smothered joy from lip to lip. And
this was the way and the word of it:

"She is back in the Kasbah!"

"The daugh