"Since Allah wills. I have no authority to go further."

"Then at one thousand and one hundred philips, Ayoub, she is...."

But the sale was not yet to be completed. From the dense and eager
throng about the gates rang a crisp voice--

"One thousand and two hundred philips for the Frankish girl."

The dalal, who had conceived that the limits of madness had been already
reached, stood gaping now in fresh amazement. The mob crowed and cheered
and roared between enthusiasm and derision, and even Tsamanni brightened
to see another champion enter the lists who perhaps would avenge him
upon Ayoub. The crowd parted quickly to right and left, and through it
into the open strode Sakr-el-Bahr. They recognized him instantly, and
his name was shouted in acclamation by that idolizing multitude.

That Barbary name of his conveyed no information to Rosamund, and her
back being turned to the entrance she did not see him. But she had
recognized his voice, and she had shuddered at the sound. She could make
nothing of the bidding, nor what the purpose that surely underlay it to
account for the extraordinary excitement of the traders. Vaguely had she
been wondering what dastardly purpose Oliver might intend to serve, but
now that she heard his voice that wonder ceased and understanding took
its place. He had hung there somewhere in the crowd waiting until all
competitors but one should have been outbidden, and now he stepped forth
to buy her for his own--his slave! She closed her eyes a moment and
prayed God that he might not prevail in his intent. Any fate but that;
she would rob him even of the satisfaction of driving her to sheathe
a poniard in her heart as that poor Andalusian girl had done. A wave
almost of unconsciousness passed over her in the intensity of her
horror. For a moment the ground seemed to rock and heave under her feet.

Then the dizziness passed, and she was herself again. She heard the
crowd thundering "Ma'sh'Allah!" and "Sakr-el-Bahr!" and the dalal
clamouring sternly for silence. When this was at last restored she heard
his exclamation--

"The glory to Allah who sends eager buyers! What sayest thou, O wazeer
Ayoub?"

"Ay!" sneered Tsamanni, "what now?"

"One thousand and three hundred," said Ayoub with a quaver of uneasy
defiance.

"Another hundred, O dalal," came from Sakr-el-Bahr in a quiet voice.

"One thousand and five hundred," screamed Ayoub, thus reaching not only
the limit imposed by his mistress