ted with his suppressed anger.
"Bethink thee, Sakr-el-Bahr, of what thou art, of what I have made thee.
Bethink thee of all the bounty these hands have lavished on thee. Thou
art my own lieutenant, and mayest one day be more. In Algiers there is
none above thee save myself. Art, then, so thankless as to deny me the
first thing I ask of thee? Truly is it written 'Ungrateful is Man.'"

"Didst thou know," began Sakr-el-Bahr, "all that is involved for me in
this...."

"I neither know nor care," Asad cut in. "Whatever it may be, it should
be as naught when set against my will." Then he discarded anger for
cajolery. He set a hand upon Sakr-el-Bahr's stalwart shoulder. "Come, my
son. I will deal generously with thee out of my love, and I will put thy
refusal from my mind."

"Be generous, my lord, to the point of forgetting that ever thou didst
ask me for her."

"Dost still refuse?" The voice, honeyed an instant ago, rang harsh
again. "Take care how far thou strain my patience. Even as I have raised
thee from the dirt, so at a word can I cast thee down again. Even as
I broke the shackles that chained thee to the rowers' bench, so can I
rivet them on thee anew."

"All this canst thou do," Sakr-el-Bahr agreed. "And since, knowing it,
I still hold to what is doubly mine--by right of capture and of
purchase--thou mayest conceive how mighty are my reasons. Be merciful,
then, Asad...."

"Must I take her by force in spite of thee?" roared the Basha.

Sakr-el-Bahr stiffened. He threw back his head and looked the Basha
squarely in the eyes.

"Whilst I live, not even that mayest thou do," he answered.

"Disloyal, mutinous dog! Wilt thou resist me--me?"

"It is my prayer that thou'lt not be so ungenerous and unjust as to
compel thy servant to a course so hateful."

Asad sneered. "Is that thy last word?" he demanded.

"Save only that in all things else I am thy slave, O Asad."

A moment the Basha stood regarding him, his glance baleful. Then
deliberately, as one who has taken his resolve, he strode to the door.
On the threshold he paused and turned again. "Wait!" he said, and on
that threatening word departed.

Sakr-el-Bahr remained a moment where he had stood during the interview,
then with a shrug he turned. He met Rosamund's eyes fixed intently upon
him, and invested with a look he could not read. He found himself unable
to meet it, and he turned away. It was inevitable that in such a moment
the earlier stab of remorse