zzled him after the darkness of his prison-house,
he thought of the Sun of Righteousness, and of the dear mother who had
sought so earnestly to lead him to God in his boyhood.

One thing that greatly encouraged him was the fact that no rope had been
put round his neck, as had been done to Molloy, and he also observed
that his guards did not treat him roughly. Moreover, they led him in
quite a different direction from the open place where he well knew that
criminals were executed. He glanced at the interpreter who marched
beside him, and thought for a moment of asking him what might be his
impending fate, but the man's look was so forbidding that he forbore to
speak.

Presently they stopped before a door, which was opened by a negro slave,
and the guards remained outside while Miles and the interpreter entered.
The court into which they were ushered was open to the sky, and
contained a fountain in the centre, with boxes of flowers and shrubs
around it. At the inner end of it stood a tall powerful Arab, leaning
on a curved sword.

Miles saw at a glance that he was the same man whose life he had saved,
and who had come so opportunely to the rescue of his friend Molloy. But
the Arab gave him no sign of recognition. On the contrary, the glance
which he bestowed on him was one of calm, stern indifference.

"Ask him," he said at once to the interpreter, "where are the Christian
dogs who were captured with him?"

"Tell him," replied Miles, when this was translated, "that I know
nothing about the fate of any of them except one."

"Which one is that?"

"The sailor," answered Miles.

"Where is he?"

"In the prison I have just left."

"And you know nothing about the others?"

"Nothing whatever."

The Arab seemed to ponder these replies for a few minutes. Then,
turning to the interpreter, he spoke in a tone that seemed to Miles to
imply the giving of some strict orders, after which, with a wave of his
hand, and a majestic inclination of the head, he dismissed them.

Although there was little in the interview to afford encouragement,
Miles nevertheless was rendered much more hopeful by it, all the more
that he observed a distinct difference in the bearing of the interpreter
towards him as they went out.

"Who is that?" he ventured to ask as he walked back to the prison.

"That is Mohammed, the Mahdi's cousin," answered the interpreter.

Miles was about to put some more questions when he was brought to a
sud