otamus' hide, a stroke from
which is felt by a bullock as painfully as a cut from an ordinary whip
is by a horse.

It whistled through the air, and came down upon the naked flesh of the
victim, who screamed with the pain as if he would break a blood-vessel.
The wild men in the hall gathered round, their eyes sparkling and their
teeth gleaming with enjoyment and laughter. It was good fun to them to
see any one flogged, but a money-lender and extortioner, that the
punishment should fall upon such an one, was indeed a treat! And Daireh
too was particularly disliked. Then the currish way in which he took
his licking added to the sport. The little civilisation they had was
very superficial, and did not go nearly deep enough to repress the
instinct of cruelty.

Another and another lash, and the fellow's howls, yells, and cries for
pity were hardly human, but seemed rather those of some powerful spirit
in pain. Harry felt quite faint and sick, and looked down so as not to
see what was going on. But he could not close his ears, unfortunately,
and he counted the strokes, longing for them to be over. He feared
being mastered by his feelings, and pleading for the wretch, so
displaying a compassion which would be considered by the Arabs as a most
despicable weakness, and it was part of his plan now to gain their
respect, and appear to enter into his uncle's plans.

No, it served the rascal right; let him have that, and more too. Only
he had rather not be present. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. The screams
subsided into a whimpering and wailing, and when Harry looked up he saw
Daireh on his feet again, his eyes bloodshot, and his features convulsed
with pain and terror.

"Where are the wills you stole?" asked the Sheikh Burrachee,
unconcernedly, as if nothing had occurred since he last put the
question.

"They are at my house, your Mightiness; send some one with me, and I
will give them up."

"I rejoice that your memory has returned; it is one of the choicest
gifts of Allah," said the sheikh. "Go with him and get the papers, and
bring them back with the prisoner."

"A bad speculation from the first!" reflected Daireh, as he was escorted
through the streets, his woe-begone appearance and gingerly gait
exciting much mirth and mockery amongst the juvenile population. "I
wish I had left the accursed wills alone. And what son of Sheytan is
this who has traced them, and had my likeness in his pocket? A
detective? No;