d darkness put an end to their unremitting toil. Only the
briefest intervals were allowed for meals, and the food was barely
sufficient to maintain life. Conversation was utterly forbidden,
and at night, if the slaves were heard talking, they were visited
with stripes.

The cells in which they now slept were single ones. Once only in
many days Hubert was able to ask a fellow sufferer:

"What happens in the end?"

"We are impaled on a stake, I believe, after the fashion of the
Turcomans; or perhaps burnt alive; or the two may be combined. God
help us. Although He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

"God bless you for those words," replied Hubert.

The merry laughter of boys filled the place at times, between their
hours of instruction, for the youngsters had all the European
languages to study amongst them, for the ends the founder of this
"orphan asylum" had in view. But nothing was done to make them
tired of their work, or unfaithful in their attachment to the
principles they were to maintain with cup and dagger.

Once or twice slaves disappeared, generally weak and worn-out men.

"Their time is come," said the others in a terrified whisper.

And on such occasions a few shrieks would sometimes break the
silence of a summer day, followed by the derisive laughter of
youthful voices. Yet these martyrs might have saved themselves by
apostasy at any moment--save, perhaps, at the last, when the
appetite of the cruel Mussulmen had been whetted for blood, and
must be satiated--yet they would not deny their Lord. Their
behaviour was very unlike the conduct of an English officer in the
Indian Mutiny, who saved his life readily by becoming a Mussulman,
with the intention, of course, of throwing his new creed aside as
soon as he was restored to society, and laughed at the folly of
those who accepted his profession thereof.

But Hubert, careless of his religious duties as he had been, and
almost afraid of appearing religious, could not do this, no more
than Martin would have done.

Oh, how he thought of Martin. And oh, how earnestly he prayed in
those days.

And here we grieve to be forced to leave our Hubert awhile.

Chapter 21: To Arms! To Arms!

Three years had passed away since the death of the Lady Sybil of
Walderne.

A great change had passed over the scene. War--civil war--the
fiercest of all strife--had fairly begun in the land. Lest my
readers should marvel, like little Peterkin, "what it was all