e!"

He heard her voice as distinctly as though she were beside him--as,
indeed, she had stood before him but an instant ago.

Getting slowly to his feet, into the night he sent an answer to the
call.

Would she hear? She had said long ago that she would speak to him so.
Perhaps she had tried before. But now at last he had heard and answered.
Had she heard? Time might tell--if ever they met again. But how good,
and quiet, and serene was the night!

He composed himself to sleep, but, as he lay waiting for that coverlet
of forgetfulness to be drawn over him, he heard the sound of bells soft
and clear. Just such bells he had heard upon the common at Hamley. Was
it, then, the outcome of his vision--a sweet hallucination? He leaned
upon his elbow and listened.

CHAPTER XXXII. FORTY STRIPES SAVE ONE

The bells that rang were not the bells of Hamley; they were part of no
vision or hallucination, and they drew David out of his chamber into
the night. A little group of three stood sharply silhouetted against the
moonlight, and towering above them was the spare, commanding form of Ebn
Ezra Bey. Three camels crouched near, and beside them stood a Nubian lad
singing to himself the song of the camel-driver:

"Fleet is thy foot: thou shalt rest by the Etl tree;
Water shalt thou drink from the blue-deep well;
Allah send His gard'ner with the green bersim,
For thy comfort, fleet one, by the Etl tree.
As the stars fly, have thy footsteps flown
Deep is the well, drink, and be still once more;
Till the pursuing winds panting have found thee
And, defeated, sink still beside thee--
By the well and the Etl tree."

For a moment David stood in the doorway listening to the low song of
the camel-driver. Then he came forward. As he did so, one of the two who
stood with Ebn Ezra moved towards the monastery door slowly. It was
a monk with a face which, even in this dim light, showed a deathly
weariness. The eyes looked straight before him, as though they saw
nothing of the world, only a goal to make, an object to be accomplished.
The look of the face went to David's heart--the kinship of pain was
theirs.

"Peace be to thee," David said gently, as the other passed him.

There was an instant's pause, and then the monk faced him with fingers
uplifted. "The grace of God be upon thee, David," he said, and his eyes,
drawn back from the world where they had been exploring, met the other's
k