low them in the waist, to be answered by more
than one groan from the tormented panting slaves, who already were
spending every ounce of strength in this cruel effort to elude their
own chance of salvation and release. Faster beat the tomtom marking the
desperate time, and faster in response to it came the creak and dip of
oars and the panting, stertorous breathing of the rowers.

"Lay on! Lay on!" cried Asad, inexorable. Let them burst their
lungs--they were but infidel lungs!--so that for an hour they but
maintained the present pace.

"We are drawing away!" cried Marzak in jubilation. "The praise to
Allah!"

And so indeed they were. Visibly the lights of the galleon were
receding. With every inch of canvas spread yet she appeared to be
standing still, so faint was the breeze that stirred. And whilst
she crawled, the galeasse raced as never yet she had raced since
Sakr-el-Bahr had commanded her, for Sakr-el-Bahr had never yet turned
tail upon the foe in whatever strength he found him.

Suddenly over the water from the galleon came a loud hail. Asad laughed,
and in the darkness shook his fist at them, cursing them in the name
of Allah and his Prophet. And then, in answer to that curse of his, the
galleon's side belched fire; the calm of the night was broken by a roar
of thunder, and something smote the water ahead of the Muslim vessel
with a resounding thudding splash.

In fear Rosamund drew closer to Sakr-el-Bahr. But Asad laughed again.

"No need to fear their marksmanship," he cried. "They cannot see us.
Their own lights dazzle them. On! On!"

"He is right," said Sakr-el-Bahr. "But the truth is that they will not
fire to sink us because they know you to be aboard."

She looked out to sea again, and beheld those friendly lights falling
farther and farther astern.

"We are drawing steadily away," she groaned. "They will never overtake
us now."

So feared Sakr-el-Bahr. He more than feared it. He knew that save for
some miraculous rising of the wind it must be as she said. And then out
of his despair leapt inspiration--a desperate inspiration, true child of
that despair of which it was begotten.

"There is a chance," he said to her. "But it is as a throw of the dice
with life and death for stakes."

"Then seize it," she bade him instantly. "For though it should go
against us we shall not be losers."

"You are prepared for anything?" he asked her.

"Have I not said that I will go down with you this night