s the hut. Omar waited outside, while Babalatchi went in
and came out directly, dragging after him the old Arab's praying
carpet. Out of a brass vessel he poured the water of ablution on
Omar's outstretched hands, and eased him carefully down into a kneeling
posture, for the venerable robber was far too infirm to be able to
stand. Then as Omar droned out the first words and made his first bow
towards the Holy City, Babalatchi stepped noiselessly towards Aissa, who
did not move all the time.

Aissa looked steadily at the one-eyed sage, who was approaching her
slowly and with a great show of deference. For a moment they stood
facing each other in silence. Babalatchi appeared embarrassed. With a
sudden and quick gesture she caught hold of his arm, and with the other
hand pointed towards the sinking red disc that glowed, rayless, through
the floating mists of the evening.

"The third sunset! The last! And he is not here," she whispered; "what
have you done, man without faith? What have you done?"

"Indeed I have kept my word," murmured Babalatchi, earnestly. "This
morning Bulangi went with a canoe to look for him. He is a strange
man, but our friend, and shall keep close to him and watch him without
ostentation. And at the third hour of the day I have sent another canoe
with four rowers. Indeed, the man you long for, O daughter of Omar! may
come when he likes."

"But he is not here! I waited for him yesterday. To-day! To-morrow I
shall go."

"Not alive!" muttered Babalatchi to himself. "And do you doubt your
power," he went on in a louder tone--"you that to him are more beautiful
than an houri of the seventh Heaven? He is your slave."

"A slave does run away sometimes," she said, gloomily, "and then the
master must go and seek him out."

"And do you want to live and die a beggar?" asked Babalatchi,
impatiently.

"I care not," she exclaimed, wringing her hands; and the black pupils of
her wide-open eyes darted wildly here and there like petrels before the
storm.

"Sh! Sh!" hissed Babalatchi, with a glance towards Omar. "Do you think,
O girl! that he himself would live like a beggar, even with you?"

"He is great," she said, ardently. "He despises you all! He despises you
all! He is indeed a man!"

"You know that best," muttered Babalatchi, with a fugitive smile--"but
remember, woman with the strong heart, that to hold him now you must be
to him like the great sea to thirsty men--a never-ceasing torment, and a