ourney. It is still dark and uncertain ahead, for
even when he has found his mother, a reconciliation between these
separated parents seems impossible. The past has too much of bitterness
in it to be easily put aside.

His first thought is of Mustapha, and he casts around for the Arab, whom
he last saw close by the door of the hotel.

The dusky courier is near by, engaged in a little game with several
companion guides, for the Arab as a rule loves gaming, and will risk
everything but his horse.

When Mustapha catches his eye he comes up hastily, understanding there
is something in the wind.

"We are to go again into the old town."

"When, monsieur?"

"This night. See! Ben Taleb has sent me a message."

The Arab looks at the paper stolidly; it might as well be Sanscrit to
him.

"Read it, monsieur."

So John complies, and his guide takes in all that is said. He nods his
head to show that he understands.

"This time I, too, will change my appearance, and they will not know
that it is Mustapha Cadi who walks through the lanes of old Al Jezira
with an unbeliever at his side."

"A bright thought, Mustapha. When shall we leave the hotel?"

"Say half past nine, meet me here. I will have all arranged. The
_burnoose_ is safe."

John prepares for business.

He remembers that on the previous occasion he had need of weapons--that
they came very near an encounter with the natives--and hence arms
himself.

Before quitting the hotel he feels it incumbent upon himself to see Lady
Ruth, and tell her where he is going. Nothing like beginning early, you
know. She has already commenced to control his destiny.

Lady Ruth has a headache, and is bathing her brow with cologne in the
privacy of her little boudoir parlor, but readily consents to see the
young man.

"You'll think me a fright, John, with my hair brushed back like
this"--John stops this in a thrice as any ardent lover might, taking
advantage of the professor's absence, and the fact that Aunt Gwen has
gone back in the second room for another chair--"but once in a great
while I have a headache that will only succumb to a certain process. You
will excuse me?"

"Indeed, I sympathize with you; have had the same splitting headache
myself more than a few times. I wouldn't have intruded--"

"You know it's no intrusion, John," with reproach in her eyes.

"Kind of you to say so, my dear, but to the point I have heard from Ben
Taleb."

"Oh! your face tells me it i