s likely to do. The coffee which the Kebir handed him
made him feel sick, as if he had had a touch of the sun. What was
happening up there on the hill, behind the gates which stood half open?
What would she do--his Rose of the West?

XXV

It was a relief to Stephen and Nevill to see one of the horsemen coming
up the rough hill-track to the gate, and to think that they need no
longer wait upon the fears or inhospitable whims of the Arab servants on
the other side of the wall.

As soon as the rider came near enough for his features to be sketched in
clearly, Nevill remembered having noticed him at one or two of the
Governor's balls, where all Arab dignitaries, even such lesser lights as
caids and adels show themselves. But they had never met. The man was not
one of the southern chiefs whom Nevill Caird had entertained at his own
house.

Stephen thought that he had never seen a more personable man as the Caid
rode up to the car, saluting courteously though with no great warmth.

His face was more tanned than very dark by nature, but it seemed brown
in contrast to his light hazel eyes. His features were commanding, if
not handsome, and he sat his horse well. Altogether he was a notable
figure in his immensely tall white turban, wound with pale grey-brown
camel's-hair rope, his grey cloth burnous, embroidered with gold, flung
back over an inner white burnous, his high black boots, with wrinkled
brown tops, and his wonderful Kairouan hat of light straw, embroidered
with a leather applique of coloured flowers and silver leaves,
steeple-crowned, and as big as a cart-wheel, hanging on his shoulders.

He and Nevill politely wished the blessings of Allah and Mohammed his
Prophet upon each other, and Nevill then explained the errand which had
brought him and his friend to the Caid's house.

The Caid's somewhat heavy though intelligent face did not easily show
surprise. It changed not at all, though Stephen watched it closely.

"Thou art welcome to hear all I can tell of my dead relation, Ben
Halim," he said. "But I know little that everybody does not know."

"It is certain, then, that Ben Halim is dead?" asked Nevill. "We had
hoped that rumour lied."

"He died on his way home after a pilgrimage to Mecca," gravely replied
the Caid.

"Ah!" Nevill caught him up quickly. "We heard that it was in
Constantinople."

Ben Sliman's expression was slightly strained. He glanced from Nevill's
boyish face to Stephen's dark