, the notorious rebel, Bab Azoun, is not among the slain.

He was seen to fall, and yet they cannot find his body, search as they
may.

Not being mounted, the French soldiers are unable to give pursuit to
the little band that hewed a way out. Besides, they have plenty to do
attending to the wounded.

Up to the now open door of the _marabout's_ tomb rushes a figure that
has leaped from a horse.

"_Mon Dieu!_ tell me, are you safe, ze ladies also?" gasps this party.

It is Monsieur Constans. He has faithfully carried out his part of the
contract, and is warmly greeted by those whom the coming of the zouaves
has saved.

Lady Ruth is pale--she has looked upon sights such as are not usually
seen by her sex--sights that make strong men shudder until they become
battle hardened, for war is always cruel and bloody.

"Let us get to the hotel as soon as possible," she says to Aunt Gwen.

"My goodness, are you going to faint?" exclaims that good soul.

"Oh, no, I don't think so, but the sooner I am at the hotel the better,"
replies the girl.

"There comes John Craig. He has been talking with the officer in command
of the soldiers, and I guess has made some sort of arrangements for us."

What Aunt Gwen says is true enough, for John leads them to captured
horses, and ere long they are moving in the direction of Algiers,
escorted by a detachment of the zouaves on foot.

Their trials for the night are over, but they will never forget what
they have seen and endured. John is secretly fuming, as he ponders over
the facts. If he could only prove that Sir Lionel is the direct cause of
all this trouble, he would demand satisfaction from the Briton in some
shape. That is where the trouble lies, in proving it. What he has
learned thus far can be put down as only suspicions or hints, though
they look bad for the Briton.

If Lady Ruth has observed enough to open her eyes with regard to the
veteran soldier, John will call it quits.

A thought occurs to him, even as he rides toward Algiers, that causes
a grim smile to break out upon his face. It is a thought worthy of a
Richelieu--an idea brilliant with possibilities.

"Here are Sir Lionel and Pauline--two despairing people who long for the
unattainable. Why should they not be mated? It is perhaps possible, and
would be a master stroke of genius on my part. Jove! I'll see what I can
do! Great pity to have all the plotting on one side of the house."

From that hour John Craig d