. He wriggled to a sitting posture horrified
and disgusted. The itching rapidly extended to other parts of his
body--it was torture, and his hands were bound securely at his back!

He tugged and pulled at his bonds until he was exhausted; but not
entirely without hope, for he was sure that he was working enough slack
out of the knot to eventually permit of his withdrawing one of his
hands. Night came. They brought him neither food nor drink. He
wondered if they expected him to live on nothing for a year. The bites
of the vermin grew less annoying though not less numerous. The Hon.
Morison saw a ray of hope in this indication of future immunity through
inoculation. He still worked weakly at his bonds, and then the rats
came. If the vermin were disgusting the rats were terrifying. They
scurried over his body, squealing and fighting. Finally one commenced
to chew at one of his ears. With an oath, the Hon. Morison struggled
to a sitting posture. The rats retreated. He worked his legs beneath
him and came to his knees, and then, by superhuman effort, rose to his
feet. There he stood, reeling drunkenly, dripping with cold sweat.

"God!" he muttered, "what have I done to deserve--" He paused. What
had he done? He thought of the girl in another tent in that accursed
village. He was getting his deserts. He set his jaws firmly with the
realization. He would never complain again! At that moment he became
aware of voices raised angrily in the goatskin tent close beside the
hut in which he lay. One of them was a woman's. Could it be Meriem's?
The language was probably Arabic--he could not understand a word of it;
but the tones were hers.

He tried to think of some way of attracting her attention to his near
presence. If she could remove his bonds they might escape together--if
she wished to escape. That thought bothered him. He was not sure of
her status in the village. If she were the petted child of the
powerful Sheik then she would probably not care to escape. He must
know, definitely.

At the bungalow he had often heard Meriem sing God Save the King, as My
Dear accompanied her on the piano. Raising his voice he now hummed the
tune. Immediately he heard Meriem's voice from the tent. She spoke
rapidly.

"Good bye, Morison," she cried. "If God is good I shall be dead before
morning, for if I still live I shall be worse than dead after tonight."

Then he heard an angry exclamation in a man's vo