haven't seen your servant!"

"That is nothing to them. They have no reason--heads of pigs! No one
must leave or they shoot--the tyrants, the imbecile tyrants! But
their day will not be forever--Islam will not endure----"

It was of no moment to Arlee Beecher what Islam would not endure.
Her heart was galloping now like a runaway horse, but her voice rang
with quick reaction from that first sickening shock.

"What nonsense," she said positively. "They wouldn't shoot _me_. Why
didn't you call me when the English doctor was here. I could have
explained then. But now--now I had better telephone, I suppose.
Either to the doctor or the English ambassador--or the American
consul. I'll make them understand in a jiffy. Where is your
telephone, please?"

"Alas, not in the palace." The young captain's look of regret
deepened.

"But--but you telephoned your sister! You telephoned her this
afternoon."

"Ah, yes, but I spoke to a telephone which is in a palace near
here--the palace of my uncle. I sent a servant with the message. But
I can send a message to that palace," he offered eagerly, "and they
can telephone for you. Or I can send notes out to all the people you
wish. The soldiers will call boys to deliver them."

Across the girl's perfectly white face a tremor of panic darted;
then she bit her lips very hard and stared very intently past the
Captain's green and gold shoulder. She had totally forgotten the
sister who had sunk on a divan beside them, her brown eyes rimmed in
their dark pencilings turning from one to the other as if to read
their faces.

"I'll just speak to those soldiers, myself," said Arlee decidedly.
"I'll make them understand." She left them there, their eyes upon
her and sped down the long room to the door which the Captain's
hurried entrance had left half open. She disappeared down the steps.

In three minutes she was back, a flame in the frightened white of
her cheeks, a flame in the frightened blue of her eyes.

"Captain Kerissen," she called, and he took a step nearer to her,
his face alert with sympathy, "Captain Kerissen, that is a _native_
soldier! He is at the bottom of the stairs--with a bayonet--and he
will not let me pass. He doesn't know a word I say. Please come and
tell him."

"Miss Beecher, it is useless for me to tell him anything," said the
young Turk with a ring of quiet conviction. "I have been talking to
that one--and to the others. They are at every entrance. It is as I
t