y, over the loose sand,
that flew in puffs around him as the hoofs struck it flying right and
left. At last, ere he reached the Bedouin tents, that were still but
slender black points against the horizon, he saw the Sheik and a party
of horsemen returning from a foraging quest, and in ignorance as yet of
the abduction of Djelma. He galloped straight to them, and halted across
their line of march, with the folds of the little white flag fluttering
in the sun. The Bedouins drew bridle, and Ilderim advanced alone. He
was a magnificent man, of middle age, with the noblest type of the
eagle-eyed, aquiline desert beauty. He was a superb specimen of his
race, without the lean, withered, rapacious, vulture look which often
mars it. His white haik floated round limbs fit for a Colossus: and
under the snowy folds of his turban the olive-bronze of his bold
forehead, the sweep of his jet-black beard, and the piercing luminance
of his eyes had a grand and kingly majesty.

A glance of recognition from him on the lascar, who had so often crossed
swords with him; and he waved back the scroll with dignified courtesy.

"Read it me."

It was read. Bitterly, blackly shameful, the few brutal words were. They
netted him as an eagle is netted in a shepherd's trap.

The moment that he gave a sign of advancing against his ravishers, the
captive's life would pay the penalty; if he merely remained in arms,
without direct attack, she would be made the Marquis' mistress, and
abandoned later to the army. The only terms on which he could have her
restored were instant submission to the Imperial rule, and
personal homage of himself and all his Djouad to the Marquis as
the representatives of France--homage in which they should confess
themselves dogs and the sons of dogs.

So ran the message of peace.

The Chasseur read on to the end calmly. Then he lifted his gaze, and
looked at the Emir--he expected fifty swords to be buried in his heart.

As he gazed, he thought no more of his own doom; he thought only of the
revelation before him, of what passion and what agony could be--things
unknown in the world where the chief portion of his life had passed. He
was a war-hardened campaigner, trained in the ruthless school of African
hostilities; who had seen every shape of mental and physical suffering,
when men were left to perish of gun-wounds, as the rush of the charge
swept on; when writhing horses died by the score of famine and of
thirst; when the