hey set off
down the narrow winding streets, with an ever-increasing train of Arabs
and negroes following in their wake. Wenlock said nothing as he walked,
but it was evident from the working of his face that his mind was very
full. But Kettle looked about him with open interest, and thoughts in
verse about this Eastern town came to him with pleasant readiness.

The royal residence was the large building encircled with gardens which
they had seen from the sea, and they entered it with little formality.
There was no trouble either about obtaining an audience. The Lady Emir
had, it appeared, seen the steamer's approach with her own eyes; indeed,
the whole of Dunkhot was excited by such an unusual arrival; and the
Head of the State was as human in her curiosity as the meanest nigger
among her subjects.

The audience hall was imposing. It was bare enough, according to the
rule of those heated Eastern lands, but it had an air of comfort and
coolness, and in those parts where it was not severely plain, the beauty
of its architecture was delicious. Armed guards to the number of some
forty men were posted round the walls, and at the further end,
apparently belonging to the civil population, were some dozen other men
squatting on the floor. In the centre of the room was a naked wretch in
chains; but sentence was hurriedly pronounced on him, and he was hustled
away as the two Englishmen entered, and they found themselves face to
face with the only woman in the room, the supreme ruler of this savage
South Arabian coast town.

She was seated on a raised divan, propped by cushions, and in front of
her was a huge water-pipe at which she occasionally took a meditative
pull. She was dressed quite in Oriental fashion, in trousers, zouave
jacket, sash, and all the rest of it; but she was unmistakably English
in features, though strongly suggestive of the Boadicea. She was a
large, heavily-boned woman, enormously covered with flesh, and she
dandled across her knees that very unfeminine sceptre, an English
cavalryman's sword. But the eye neglected these details, and was
irresistibly drawn by the strongness of her face. Even Kettle was almost
awed by it.

But Captain Owen Kettle-was not a man who could be kept in awe for long.
He took off his helmet, marched briskly up toward the divan, and bowed.

"Good afternoon, your Ladyship," he said. "I trust I see you well. I'm
Captain Kettle, master of that steamboat now lying in your roads, an