ll
night, the night of Maqueda's marriage. On the contrary, he was standing
on a little knoll staring at the distant mountains and the glow above
them.

"Mur is on fire," he said solemnly. "Oh, my God, Mur is on fire!" and
turning he walked away.

Just then Roderick joined us.

"Fung got into Mur," he said, "and now cut throat of all Abati. We well
out of that, but pig Joshua have very warm wedding feast, because Barung
hate Joshua who try to catch him not fairly, which he never forget;
often talk of it."

"Poor Maqueda!" I said to Higgs, "what will happen to her?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but although once, like everybody else,
I adored that girl, really as a matter of justice she deserves all she
gets, the false-hearted little wretch. Still it is true," he added,
relenting, "she gave us very good camels, to say nothing of their
loads."

But I only repeated, "Poor Maqueda!"

That day we made but a short journey, since we wished to rest ourselves
and fill the camels before plunging into the wilderness, and feeling
sure that we should not be pursued, had no cause to hurry. At night we
camped in a little hollow by a stream that ran at the foot of a rise. As
dawn broke we were awakened by the voice of Roderick, who was on watch,
calling to us in tones of alarm to get up, as we were followed. We
sprang to our feet, seizing our rifles.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"There, there," he said, pointing toward the rise behind us.

We ran round some intervening bushes and looked, to see upon its crest a
solitary figure seated on a very tired horse, for it panted and its head
drooped. This figure, which was entirely hidden in a long cloak with
a hood, appeared to be watching our camp just as a spy might do. Higgs
lifted his rifle and fired at it, but Oliver, who was standing by him,
knocked the barrel up so that the bullet went high, saying:

"Don't be a fool. If it is only one man there's no need to shoot him,
and if there are more you will bring them on to us."

Then the figure urged the weary horse and advanced slowly, and I noticed
that it was very small. "A boy," I thought to myself, "who is bringing
some message."

The rider reached us, and slipping from the horse, stood still.

"Who are you?" asked Oliver, scanning the cloaked form.

"One who brings a token to you, lord," was the answer, spoken in a low
and muffled voice. "Here it is," and a hand, a very delicate hand, was
stretched out, holding