so coming
into the plain of Mettegia, there is such an abundance of sweet odours
and lovely fertile views to enchant the senses, that a dull man would be
inspirited to a happy, cheerful mood.

'Twas close upon nine o'clock when we reached the little town, and not a
soul to be seen anywhere nor a light in any window, but that troubled us
not at all (having provided ourselves with a good store of victuals
before quitting Alger), for here 'tis as sweet to lie of nights in the
open air as in the finest palace elsewhere. Late as it was, however, we
could not dispose ourselves to sleep before we had gone all round the
town to satisfy our curiosity. At the further extremity we spied a
building looking very majestic in the moonlight, with a large garden
about it enclosed with high walls, and deciding that this must be the
residence of Ali Oukadi, who, we had learnt, was the most important
merchant of these parts, we lay us down against the wall, and fell
asleep, thinking of our dear Moll, who perchance, all unconscious, was
lying within.

Rising at daybreak, for Dawson was mightily uneasy unless we might be
breaking the law by sleeping out-of-doors (but there is no cruel law of
this sort in Barbary), we washed ourselves very properly at a
neighbouring stream, made a meal of dry bread and dates, then, laying
our bundles in a secret place whence we might conveniently fetch them,
if Ali Oukadi insisted on entertaining us a day or two, we went into the
town, and finding, upon enquiry, that this was indeed his palace, as we
had surmised, bethought us what to say and how to behave the most civil
possible, and so presented ourselves at his gate, stating our business.

Presently, we were admitted to an outer office, and there received by a
very bent, venerable old Moor, who, having greeted us with much
ceremony, says, "I am Ali Oukadi. What would you have of me?"

"My daughter Moll," answers Jack, in an eager, choking voice, offering
his letter. The Moor regarded him keenly, and, taking the letter, sits
down to study it; and while he is at this business a young Moor enters,
whose name, as we shortly learnt, was Mohand ou Mohand. He was, I take
it, about twenty-five or thirty years of age, and as handsome a man of
his kind as ever I saw, with wondrous soft dark eyes, but a cruel mouth
and a most high, imperious bearing which, together with his rich clothes
and jewels, betokened him a man of quality. Hearing who we were, he
saluted u