god, with what result I
cannot tell. Yield, then, and I will not even slay the Abati; they
shall live on and serve the Fung as slaves and minister to the glory of
Harmac."

"It may not be, it may not be!" Maqueda answered, striking the pommel of
her saddle with her small hand. "Shall Jehovah whom Solomon, my father,
worshipped, Jehovah of all the generations, do homage to an idol shaped
by the hands He made? My people are worn out; they have forgot their
faith and gone astray, as did Israel in the desert. I know it. It may
even happen that the time has come for them to perish, who are no longer
warriors, as of old. Well, if so, let them die free, and not as slaves.
At least I, in whom their best blood runs, do not seek your mercy,
O Barung. I'll be no plaything in your house, who, at the worst, can
always die, having done my duty to my God and those who bred me. Thus I
answer you as the Child of many Kings. Yet as a woman," she added in a
gentler voice, "I thank you for your courtesy. When I am slain, Barung,
if I am fated to be slain, think kindly of me, as one who did her best
against mighty odds," and her voice broke.

"That I shall always do," he answered gravely. "Is it ended?"

"Not quite," she answered. "These Western lords, I give them to you; I
absolve them from their promise. Why should they perish in a lost cause?
If they take their wisdom to you to use against me, you have vowed them
their lives, and, perhaps, that of their brother, your captive. There is
a slave of yours also--you spoke of him, or your servant did--Singer of
Egypt is his name. One of them knew him as a child; perchance you will
not refuse him to that man."

She paused, but Barung made no answer.

"Go, my friends," she went on, turning toward us. "I thank you for your
long journey on my behalf and the blow you have struck for me, and in
payment I will send you a gift of gold; the Sultan will see it safe
into your hands. I thank you. I wish I could have known more of you, but
mayhap we shall meet again in war. Farewell."

She ceased, and I could see that she was watching us intently through
her thin veil. The Sultan also watched us, stroking his long beard, a
look of speculation in his eyes, for evidently this play interested him
and he wondered how it would end.

"This won't do," said Orme, when he understood the thing. "Higgs would
never forgive us if we ate dirt just on the off-chance of saving him
from sacrifice. He's too straight