and the donkeys of the two ladies, which were guarded by
Costantin, the father of Asad.

"May Allah comfort thee, O Iskender!" exclaimed the muleteer fervently.

"May Allah have mercy on thee, rather," chuckled Costantin malignantly;
"for thou art like to suffer death for this last exploit!"

Iskender scarcely heard. He ran until he was out of their sight, and
then lay down among some rocks and wept his fill. When he returned
towards the camp an hour later, meaning to make himself useful
unobtrusively, it was to find nothing left on the spot where all his
interest in life had been so lately concentrated except an empty tin
and some bits of paper. That, and the ashes of their last night's
fire! He stood a long while staring fixedly at these memorials.

CHAPTER XXIII

More from subconscious attraction than from impulse Iskender trudged
for hours across the wide coast plain till he reached the sandhills and
beheld the house of the missionaries. It was then towards midnight,
and the moon was rising. He sat and watched that house, with scarcely
a movement, till the dawn came up, and the moon became a symbol in the
lighted sky. With the cries of waking birds, with the return of
colour, his blood flowed warm again. He arose, and turned towards his
mother's house. The sun appearing as he reached the cactus hedge, he
paused a moment to survey the well-known scene in that moment of
transfiguration, when the sea caught light, and shadows stretched
themselves luxuriously. He felt the paint-box at his breast with hope
revived.

Through the open door he could see that his mother was at prayers,
kneeling before the picture of the Blessed Virgin which he had painted
for her long ago before he knew the way of it. From time to time she
lowered herself upon her hands until her forehead touched the ground.
He stood without upon the sand till she had finished.

Her first expression was of glad thanksgiving, as she ran and clasped
him to her breast; then, in a trice, her voice resumed its ancient
scold, with an addition of real anger.

"May thy life be cut short! What devil brought thee hither, of all
places in the world the one where thy foes are most sure to seek thee?
Fly, I tell thee! Fly, O accursed malefactor! They have complained
against thee to the consul."

Iskender begged for food, which she could not refuse, though she
produced it unwillingly, and stood over him while he ate, adjuring him,
for the l