qualid and gloomy, and, as
his dull, inquiring gaze wandered over his surroundings, he
endeavoured to realize where he was. The effort was more than he
was equal to, and, closing his eyes, he relapsed into a calm,
dreamless sleep.

In that first dawn of consciousness he had failed to see the silent
figure at his bedside--a figure which, had his gaze rested upon it,
would probably have troubled his weakened mind and stayed his
peaceful slumber.

The moment his eyes closed, the figure silently rose and glided
noiselessly from the room. Presently it returned with a glass
containing a steaming potion. Setting it down, it bent over the bed
and gazed long and earnestly at the sleeper. A look of satisfaction
came over its grim and wrinkled face as it resumed its vigil at the
bedside.

When next the sick man awoke, a tiny lamp was shedding its dim rays
over the dingy apartment. This time the figure at once approached
the sufferer and held the glass to his lips. Too weak to resist or
even care what was happening, he silently drank. The blood instantly
coursed more rapidly through his body, and he felt refreshed and
stronger. Watching the look of intelligence come into his eyes, the
figure put the glass down and spoke to him in excellent French.

"You feel better now?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied in a faint voice, as though trying to recollect
something. "I have been ill, haven't I?"

"Very ill," was the response.

"Who are you?" he asked, after a pause, "and where am I?"

"I am Mariam Abagi," she answered quickly, "and you are in a house
at Gizeh. I am what you call a Syrian Arab. But do not worry--you
are too ill yet to think or talk; wait until you are better," and
she silently left the room.

For a moment or two Helmar tried to understand and recall something
of what had happened, but all seemed so dim and misty that he had to
give it up, and at last, becoming drowsy again, fell asleep.

Mariam Abagi was a woman of unusual character for her caste. She was
married to a German who was disliked and suspected by the natives.
They looked upon him as a spy, a traitor come from Europe for some
evil purpose, and eventually did away with him. Mariam was a really
good woman, and resented the deed bitterly. Naoum, her son, never
saw his father, but inherited some of his good business qualities,
and all his mother's kindness of heart. So when he had found Helmar
in distress after the affair with the inspector, he instinct