it agreed?" asked Omar, glancing at us.

"It is," we all three answered with one voice, Kona and Goliba fingering
their amulets as they spoke.

"Then if it is thy will I shall remain and defy the Naya," Omar answered,
grasping the string of jujus around his neck and muttering some words I
could not catch. "I, Omar, Prince of Mo, am thy leader in this struggle
of my people against oppression and misrule. If they will declare in my
favour I will free them. I have spoken."

"Thou hast until noon to-morrow to quit this city," Goliba said. "Hasten
not thy decision, but what I will show thee secretly ere long will
perhaps convince thee of the terrors of the Naya's reign. I have often
counselled the queen to aspire to the virtues of truth, wisdom, justice
and moderation, the great ornaments of the Emerald Throne, but my
endeavours have been frustrated and the fruit of my labour blasted."

As the white-bearded sage uttered these words, I noticed that from behind
one of the great marble pillars of the colonnade that surrounded the
courtyard of Goliba's fine house a white robe flitted for an instant,
disappearing in the fast-falling gloom. At the moment, sitting as we were
smoking and chatting in the open air, the presence of an intruder did
not strike me as strange, and only half an hour later did I begin to fear
that our decision had been listened to by an eavesdropper, possibly a spy
in the service of the terrible queen! When, after due reflection, I
imparted my misgivings privately to Goliba, he, however, allayed my
fears, smiling, as he said:

"Heed it not. It was but my slave Fiou. I saw her also as she passed
along."

"Then thou dost not fear spies?" I said.

"Not in this mine own house," he answered proudly. "The dwelling-house of
a royal councillor is exempt from any espionage in the Naya's cause."

This satisfied me, and the incident escaped my recollection entirely
until long after, when I had bitter cause to remember it, as will be seen
from later chapters of this record.

Soon after Omar had promised to act as our leader in his country's cause,
Goliba arose, and crossing the courtyard, now lit only by the bright
stars twinkling in the dark blue vault above, disappeared through a door
with a fine horse-shoe arch in Moorish style. Left together, we sat
cross-legged on the mat, a silent, thoughtful trio. Omar had decided to
act on the sage's advice, and none of us knew what the result might be.
That fierce fi