tar in the service of Islam.
The story of how he came to be delivered up was never clearly told; none
dared clearly tell it, for none who had participated in the deed but
took shame in it thereafter, however clear it might be that Sakr-el-Bahr
had brought it all upon himself. But, at least, it was understood that
he had not fallen in battle, and hence it was assumed that he was still
alive. Upon that presumption there was built up a sort of legend that he
would one day come back; and redeemed captives returning a half-century
later related how in Algiers to that day the coming of Sakr-el-Bahr was
still confidently expected and looked for by all true Muslimeen.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE HEATHEN CREED

Sakr-el-Bahr was shut up in a black hole in the forecastle of the Silver
Heron to await the dawn and to spend the time in making his soul. No
words had passed between him and Sir John since his surrender. With
wrists pinioned behind him, he had been hoisted aboard the English ship,
and in the waist of her he had stood for a moment face to face with an
old acquaintance--our chronicler, Lord Henry Goade. I imagine the florid
countenance of the Queen's Lieutenant wearing a preternaturally grave
expression, his eyes forbidding as they rested upon the renegade. I
know--from Lord Henry's own pen--that no word had passed between them
during those brief moments before Sakr-el-Bahr was hurried away by his
guards to be flung into those dark, cramped quarters reeking of tar and
bilge.

For a long hour he lay where he had fallen, believing himself alone; and
time and place would no doubt conduce to philosophical reflection
upon his condition. I like to think that he found that when all was
considered, he had little with which to reproach himself. If he had done
evil he had made ample amends. It can scarcely be pretended that he had
betrayed those loyal Muslimeen followers of his, or, if it is, at least
it must be added that he himself had paid the price of that betrayal.
Rosamund was safe, Lionel would meet the justice due to him, and as for
himself, being as good as dead already, he was worth little thought. He
must have derived some measure of content from the reflection that he
was spending his life to the very best advantage. Ruined it had been
long since. True, but for his ill-starred expedition of vengeance he
might long have continued to wage war as a corsair, might even have
risen to the proud Muslim eminence of the Bashali