."

"But you will be near me," said the timid Corsar.

"I will be at your side. Now hurry. An hour is a short time."

Corsar threw on his cloak and repeated the beginning of a prayer the
end of which he could not recall.

"Be careful not to wake the guards," said Azraele, cautiously, "if a
human being should by chance hear us the power of the enchantment
would be broken, for they might utter a prayer that would contradict
ours. We will saddle our own horses and go down by the secret path. We
must not say a word on the way and you must not look behind."

The Bey was ready. He put on his furlined cloak he was so cold.
Azraele called to the panther lying on the rug,

"Oglan, you shall go too and keep watch. If we meet a wild beast you
shall defend us."

As if he had understood the words of his mistress the panther rose on
his hind feet and laid his paws on her arm, and the trembling man
clung to her on the other side. A strange group! A pale woman wrapped
in white, and by her side two princely creatures, a haughty man
steeled for conflict, and a panther; both mastered by a glance from
her, driven to joy or to despair.

* * * * *

The Moslem churchyard below the castle is planted with cypresses. Amid
these dark trees of mourning are the graves rising ghostlike with
their layers of white stones. At the sound of the approaching steps a
grey wolf ran out from the graves, otherwise the place was absolutely
desolate. The clouds were broken after the storm; and here and there
might be seen the dark blue sky with stars like diamonds. The
raindrops were falling from the trees. The rumbling of the thunder was
still heard occasionally in the distance and the lightning played over
the mountain tops brightening all with its white light.

The figures reached the churchyard by the underground passage and
dismounted from their horses beside the graves. Azraele laid the reins
of both horses in Oglan's mouth. The clever beast stood still on his
hind feet and held the two snorting horses more firmly than any post
could.

The man and woman reached a high grave with its stone just showing
among the branches of a weeping willow. "It is hardly probable that a
slave rests under this stone," whispered Azraele to the trembling
knight; she placed her magic pan on the stone and lighted the amber
and borax which blazed up and cast a white vapor over the grave. In
the distance was heard a slight rustling and