ght stare at the appalling rites of some deadly
cannibal encountered in a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of
paralysed curiosity.

Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with
small pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out.

"Why do we stop?" said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes.

"The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk."

Mrs. Greyne began to tremble.

"We are to leave the coachman?"

"I shall escort madame, alone."

The great novelist's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt
like a Merrin's exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with
African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend,
and stand among the pebbles.

"Where are we going?"

Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the
faint light that emanated from the starry sky.

"Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes."

Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would
have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side.

Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward.
Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the
Kasbah, she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the
lights of the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and
wished she were a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a
German-Swiss porter, a merry chasseur--anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne.
One thing alone supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her
husband's ecstasy when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful
labours, to tell him that he was released, that he need visit them no
more.

The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it
seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the
feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and
terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs,
rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities,
unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the
chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her
footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a
personal nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved
in the midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which
wild music flowed.

"Shall we never be there?" she panted to Abdallah Ja