a tear-stained face to her son, then buried it again in her
hands. Kedar threw himself beside the couch. The old man's lips moved.

"Aha!" cried he, "it is blood-revenge! Mizni, bold chief, I have you
now! Yes, fly up to your eyrie among the rocks, if you can. I shall
reach you there! Blood must be spilled. My honor! My honor!"

He was thinking of a fray of his youth in which he had paid the dues of
blood for an only brother. Again, he seemed to be dashing on in the
chase.

"On, on, Zebe!" he cried, in a hoarse whisper, "on, good steed! The
quarry is ahead there! See the falcon swoop! Good steed, on!"

His voice was growing fainter, yet he continued to wave his arms
feebly, and to move his lips in inaudible muttering. Once more the words
became distinct:

"Here, Kedar, little man! Let father put you on his horse. There, boy,
there! You will make a son for a Bedouin to be proud of!"

A tear rolled down Kedar's cheek as the dying man thus pictured a happy
scene of his childhood. "Poor old father!" he murmured. "Manasseh, it is
hard to see him die thus godlessly. Had I but come sooner!"

The old Sheikh's breath came shorter. His hand moved more feebly; he
turned his head uneasily and opened his eyes.

He fixed them upon his son with a look of consciousness. His face
brightened.

"Dear father," whispered the youth, and kissed his cheek.

A smile spread over the old man's face. His lips formed the words "My
son!" His eyes closed, and the old Bedouin was dead.

The women broke into a low wail, and Kedar, with a tenderness not of the
old time, strove to comfort his mother. The rites of anointing the body
for burial were performed, and all through the evening the different
members of the tribe gathered mournfully in to take a last look at the
brave old leader.

When night fell Kedar went out; the atmosphere of the tent seemed to
choke him. Manasseh stood silently by his side. The wail of the women
sounded in a low burial-song from within, and groups of men, talking in
whispers, gathered before the door.

Kedar stood with folded arms and head thrown back, looking upon the
heavens. A star fell. Every Bedouin bowed his head, for the Arabs
believe that when a star falls a soul ascends to paradise.

"Manasseh," said Kedar in a low tone, "I cannot let them bury him. They
would do it with half-heathen rites."

"Can none among all these conduct Christian service?"

"Not one. My mother is the only one who knows aught