wounds,
her face and hands as seen in the dim light of the lantern were bedaubed
with his blood. At that moment the guards were crying that the Kasbah
was afire, and at the next they were gone, leaving Katrina alone with
the unconscious man. "Get up," she cried again, and tugging at Ben
Aboo's unconscious body she struck it in her terror and frenzy. It was
every one for himself in that bad hour. Katrina followed the guards, and
was never afterwards heard of.

When Ben Aboo came to himself the patio was aglow with flames. He
staggered to his feet, still grappling to his breast the money-bags
hidden under his selham. Then, bleeding from his shoulder and with
blood upon his beard, he made afresh for the passage leading to the back
alley. The passage was narrow and dark. There were three winding steps
at the end of it. Ben Aboo was dizzy and he stumbled.

But the passage was silent, it was safe, and out in the alley a sea of
voices burst upon him. He could hear the tramp of countless footsteps,
the cries of multitudes of voices, and the rattle of flintlocks.
Lanterns, torches, flares and flashes of gunpowder came and went at both
ends of the long dark tunnel. In the light of these he saw a struggling
current of angry faces. The living sea encircled him. He knew what had
happened. At the first certainty that his power was gone and that there
was nothing to fear from his vengeance, his own people had gathered
together to destroy him.

There were two small mean houses on the opposite side of the alley, and
Ben Aboo tried to take refuge in the first of them. But the woman who
came with uncovered face to the door was the widow of the mason who had
built his strong-room. "Murderer and dog!" she cried, and shut the door
against him. He tried the other house. It was the house of the mason's
son. "Forgive me," he cried. "I am corrected by Allah! Yes, yes, it is
true I did wrong by your father, but forgive me and save me." Thus he
pleaded, throwing himself on the ground and crawling there. "Dog and
coward," the young man shouted, and beat him back into the street.

Ben Aboo's terror was now appalling to look upon. His face was that of
a snared beast. With bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks, and short thick
breath, he ran from dark alley to dark alley, trying every house where
he thought he might find a friend. "Alee, don't you know me?" "Mohammed,
it is I, Ben Aboo." "See, El Arby, here's money, money; it's yours,
only save me, save