"My father returned only for more slaves, and left immediately, when he

had collected them. He promised to come back for me, or send Yusuf.

Yusuf came indeed--he was the man you saw carrying me--but I would that

he had stayed away, for he frightened and insulted me. He said that all

law and order were at an end; that the French would soon be here, and

that he loved me and was determined that I should be his; by force, if

needs be. With that he advanced and would have embraced me. I screamed

and fled from him; but he soon caught me and was carrying me away, when

I fainted. I know no more; you know what followed."

"I do indeed," said St. Just gravely. "God be thanked that I came up

when I did. I shudder to think what otherwise might have been your

fate."

"It would have been death," she said; "for I never could have survived

the ignominy of having been embraced by Yusuf. I should have slain

myself at the first opportunity. Thus you have saved my life, my brave

deliverer."

She turned her lovely eyes on him--eyes which beamed forth not only

gratitude, but the dawn of love.

"You overwhelm me, when you talk like that," replied St. Just. "Any of

my countrymen would have acted as I did. But tell me. You said but

now, that your mother was a French woman; may I know her name?"

"Certainly; it was de Moncourt."

"What, of Moncourt in Brittany?"

"Yes."

"Indeed! then I have little doubt I have the honor to greet a cousin. I

am a St. Just, also of Brittany."

"Truly? How delightful!"

"By what name did your mother call you?"

"Alas! it is an Arab one; I am called Halima."

Hardly had the words escaped her lips, when the sound of two shots

following rapidly upon each other reached their ears. Both started to

their feet.

"Yusuf!" she cried in terror.

And he, "Oh for arms and ammunition. We have but our pistols and a few

rounds."

"Do you want guns?" asked Halima. "It so, there are matchlocks in the

house; and gunpowder, too. Come with me and I will show you where they

are."

St. Just shouted to one of his men; and Halima led them up a passage,

halting at the end of it, before what seemed merely a wall panel. But

she touched a knob that formed a portion of the Arabesque that decorated

it; and, at the same time, pushed the panel. It opened on hinges, like

an ordinary door, disclosing a room in which were arms of all sorts, the

whole more or less old fashioned, and useless against disciplined

troops, but that might be efficacious against a Cairo mob. At any rate,

the matchlocks would make a noise, and firing blank cartridges often

answers with a crowd. So St. Just and his trooper picked up a dozen of

the firearms and as much ammunition as they could carry, the young girl

helping them; then they rejoined the other men, who were gathered in the

courtyard at the foot of the staircase that led to the women's

apartments.

Quickly the matchlocks were distributed and loaded. But, before St. Just

had decided how to post his men, a loud hammering at the entrance and

the trampling of many feet and the sound of voices were heard. One

louder than the rest shouted out in Arabic, "Open, open, ye dogs of

Christians."

Then Halima trembled and panted in faltering tones, "It is Yusuf. Oh!

save me from him. Kill me rather than let me fall into his hands."

And St. Just answered. "Trust me, Yusuf shall not have you, while I

live. Keep close behind me." Then he called out to his men, "All

follow me up the staircase!" and he led the way with Halima. Then he

posted four men at the top of the staircase, two in front who were to

lie down, and two behind, to stand up or kneel as occasion served. The

staircase was not broad enough to allow more than two persons to ascend

abreast; there was a fair prospect, therefore, that the four men could

defend it.

These men placed, St. Just, with Halima and his three remaining

troopers, betook themselves to a room with windows or embrasures that

commanded the courtyard approach to the foot of the staircase. At these

embrasures they took their stand, and awaited, stern and indomitable,

the imminent attack.

Meanwhile the din without increased; the shouts and yells and menaces

against the hated foreigners grew louder; the blows thundered upon the

iron-studded door faster and harder. No door could long withstand such

violence, and every moment St. Just felt that it must give way. At

last, with a loud crash, it fell, and the crowd of Arabs came pouring

into the courtyard.

"Aim low and fire," came the order from St. Just. He fired himself, and

the three troopers did the same. Two men in the crowd dropped, and,

with a howl of rage, the rest dashed across the yard and made for the

staircase. When the first of them came in sight, the four men at the top

fired, and several of the attacking party fell.

"Load and fire as fast as you can," said St. Just to the men in the

room; "and show as little as possible of your bodies."

Before the beginning of the fight the French troopers had thrown aside

their Arab draperies, finding they impeded their movements; so that, if

ever their assailants had had any doubt about their nationality, it was

now removed.

Both the men on the stairs and those in the room were now using their

guns with fatal effect upon the densely packed crowd below, and many a

bullet found its billet. But the besieged were not having it wholly

their own way, for, though the attacking party recoiled time after time

before the deadly fire at close quarters, they continually again pressed

forward. They, also, were not without firearms, which they were using

to some purpose, for every now and then a bullet crashed into the room

and buried itself either in the wall, or in some article of furniture.

Presently one of St. Just's men gave a cry and dropped, badly wounded.

But there was no time to attend to him. All that happened was that

Halima stepped forward and took his weapon and his place, loading and

firing like the others.

Meanwhile the men at the head of the staircase were faring badly.

Already two of them had been rendered hors de combat; and St. Just,

rushing out of the room to learn how matters were progressing, arrived

just in time to see a third man fall with a thud at his feet, stone

dead.

There was a loud yell, then a rush up the staircase, and, the next

moment, St. Just and the trooper at his side found themselves hacking

and hewing and stabbing at the sea of swarthy faces in front of them.

But they made no impression on the crowd, spite of those who kept

falling beneath their blows. On and on the rabble came, pressed

forwards by them who were behind. Then St. Just shouted out for those

who were in the room to come to his help; but his words were lost in the

din of the yelling Arabs. Fighting and retiring inch by inch, he, and

the brave fellow at his side gradually regained the room in which were

Halima and the others. The place was filled with smoke and sulphurous

fumes, and almost stifling, and the many bullets that had entered it had

made havoc of the furniture and woodwork.

The moment St. Just regained the room, his eyes sought Halima. She was

standing at the window firing at the surging mass below. Calling to the

two men with her to take his place and hold back the crowd so long as

they were able, he ran swiftly to the girl. Each looked in the other's

face, and both knew that their efforts to drive back the crowd were

vain. Unless there was some way of escape, their doom was sealed. From

the look of stern resolve she wore, and the way she clutched the dagger

in her hand, St. Just knew that she would keep her word, and that, in

securing her, the victors would capture but a corpse.

Meanwhile the three men at the door were fighting hard; but what could

three men do, opposed by forty? With aching arms and parched mouths,

and panting breasts, they slashed and stabbed, and parried, retiring

step by step, the savage Arabs ever pressing forward, and by sheer

weight forcing the three men back upon St. Just, who now once more

joined in the fray.

A moment more, and the soldier on his right fell to the ground with a

spear point through his heart. Instantly St. Just brought down his

sword upon the spearman's head, and the Arab joined the Frenchman he had

slain.

Enraged at seeing their comrade fall, and thirsting for revenge, St.

Just's two last men hurled themselves upon the mob, and, for a moment,

made it waver.

Then, feeling that their final moment had arrived, St. Just placed

himself before the girl, prepared for the last deadly rush that would

end the life of both. But, for all that he knew that resistance would

avail them nothing, that their case was hopeless, so strongly implanted

in the human heart is the love of life, that he did not stand passively

awaiting death, but savagely fought on, desperation urging him to

superhuman efforts in one last supreme struggle for life.

Then, just when he had received a spear thrust through the left arm and

all seemed lost, suddenly, with the swiftness of a flash of lightning,

despair gave way to hope. A measured tramp was heard along the narrow

street; then the inspiring sound of a French bugle call. Help was at

hand, if he could but hold out a few moments longer! The knowledge lent

him strength and inspired him to fresh efforts. Once more he threw

himself upon his foes. But his ardor this time was scarcely needed, for

the Arabs also had heard the sounds, and knew what they portended.

Their enemy would soon be upon them. They wavered, then fell back

before his whirling sword; the next moment they had turned and were

rushing pell mell out of the room and down the staircase, tumbling over

each other in their hurry.

But, warned by the approaching march of men, instead of making for the

main entrance, on reaching the foot of the staircase, they wheeled right

and left and made their escape by doors and windows at the back.

During this stampede, the Arab girl had not been idle. She, too, had

heard the marching and the bugle, and knew that, if she could but gain

the French, her life and honor were secure. She saw that the courtyard

was deserted--for all the Arabs, who were not in the room, were crowded

on or about the staircase--also that the main entrance to the house was

clear.

In a moment her resolve was taken, and, while St. Just was still

brandishing his sword to keep his foes at bay, she made her way

carefully through the window, and lowered herself on to a protruding

gargoyle, about four feet below and somewhat to the side of it.

Steadying herself for a moment, she stooped, or, rather, squatted down,

until she touched the gargoyle. From this point to the top of the

colonnade was scarcely ten feet. Clinging firmly to the gargoyle, she

let her body down, until it swung at full length from her hold. Then

she dropped. The fall shook her somewhat, but, almost immediately, she

recovered herself and ran along the colonnade, until she gained a water

pipe. To slide down this and reach the ground in safety was but a

second's work. Then, like a young antelope, she sped across the

courtyard, and over the large studded door, which had been torn from its

hinges and lay athwart her path: and out into the narrow street.

Onward she rushed with the cry, "A moi! a moi! mes enfants! Au secours;

pour la France!" Nor did she pause until she found herself panting and

breathless in the arms of a French officer. But, withdrawing herself

immediately, she hurriedly explained St. Just's great peril.

At this, scarcely waiting for orders, the soldiers rushed past her

through the house and across the courtyard. There they found St. Just

covered with blood and black with powder, but, save for the spear thrust

through his arm, and sundry bruises, not much the worse for what he had

undergone. But he was panting for breath, and resting on his sword, and

could not speak. With a cheer, the soldiers ran to him, and, two of

them supporting him, one on each side, they got him down the staircase,

then carried him across the quadrangle, and set him down before the

officer in command of the detachment, which General Buonaparte had that

moment joined.

To account for the arrival of his fellow soldiers, so opportunely for

St. Just, it needs but to be stated that Buonaparte had made his attack

at dawn upon the city, as he had intended. The sheiks had made but a

poor defence of the Citadel and had quickly agreed to its surrender.

The troops were on their way to take possession of it, when the Arab

girl ran out and told what was occurring in the house.

So soon as he had breath enough, St. Just gave his account of all that

had occurred from the time of his pursuit of Mourad Bey. Buonaparte's

dark eyes flashed unpleasantly, at times, but he spoke no word until the

young officer had concluded his report; then he turned to a man at his

side, over whose head the knife of the assassin was already hovering,

and in a few weeks would fatally descend; and said something in an

undertone. General Kleber, for it was he, replied inaudibly to those

about them, and shook his head.

Then Buonaparte addressed St. Just and, pinching his ear, he said, "Be

careful, be careful. France is watching you, and has need of you."

The words seemed cold and formal--almost stern; but coming from this

little man with the piercing eyes, to the young officer, they sounded

like unmerited praise.

Continuing, Buonaparte turned to a captain and said,

"Guard the house and look well to the lady also." The next instant he

rode away, followed by all, but a captain's guard, to receive the homage

due to a conqueror.

Then St. Just fell fainting to the ground and was carried into the house

in which he had so bravely fought, and where he was to lie upon a bed of

sickness and be tended by a beautiful woman who was already more than

half in love with him.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

For three weeks St. Just lay in bed in the house of Halima's father, for

the greater part of the time unconscious; for--what with his wound and

bruises, the excitement he had undergone and the great heat--on the day

after the attack on the house, he fell into a raging fever. Once

General Buonaparte came to see him, but the young officer did not know

him.

During all this time Halima helped to nurse him, and, so true is it that

we acquire affection for the objects of our care, each day she felt

herself more drawn towards him.

At last his mind came back to him, and he began to gain strength fast;

so much so, that he realized, with great dejection, that, in a few days,

he would have to return to his duties, and bid farewell to the Arab girl

who had wound herself about his heart. Now, in the game of love there

is often much finesse and subterfuge. He would have given anything, to

know Halima's sentiments towards himself, but it so happened, that in

proportion as St. Just gained consciousness and strength, so did she

withdraw herself from his society, until at last she would spend but a

few minutes of each day in his company, and then only in the presence of

another person. Had he known how assiduously she had attended him

during his term of insensibility, his mind would have been at rest, for

the knowledge would have given him the information he desired, and he

would have declared the love that was consuming him. As it was, fearing

to offend her by his precipitancy, he said nothing, when he left her,

except to thank her for the shelter and attention she had given him.

Halima blushed and hung her head, and, though longing for him to take

her in his arms, with her Eastern bringing up, was too shy to give him

an inkling of her feelings; and so they parted, each outwardly calm, but

with a devouring flame within.

His duties, when he returned to them, he found irksome, for thought of

her, though they were really light--nothing beyond an hour's drill daily

with his regiment.

In this way two months passed, but more stirring times were coming; this

was the calm that heralded the storm. The conquered citizens of Cairo,

though, to all appearance, acquiescing with cheerfulness and content in

the new order of things, were in reality planning a revolt, and the

knowledge of it was brought to St. Just's ears in this way.

At five o'clock in the morning of the 21st of October, his servant

aroused him to say that a messenger from the "Lady Halima" wished to see

him. St. Just dressed with all speed, and Halima's messenger was

introduced. He was the bearer of a letter from her to say that she was

assured on authority, on which she could implicitly rely, that the

citizens had for some time been quietly arming themselves, and that they

were at that very moment silently massing themselves throughout the

city, and would, at a certain signal, rise simultaneously in the

different quarters, and massacre the French.

This news was as startling as it was alarming, and St. Just instantly

had the reveille sounded and ordered his squadron to horse; then hurried

towards the citadel. But, meantime, the insurrection had begun, and

General Buonaparte, at the first alarm, had also galloped thither,

attended by three Guides. But he was ahead of the young officer, so

that when, a few minutes later, the latter came on the scene, he found

Buonaparte surrounded by a mob of Arabs, his escort killed, his horse

shot under him, and himself in imminent peril of his life.

Just in the nick of time St. Just and his troop dashed forward, and by

the impetuosity of their onslaught, broke through the crowd, forced them

back, and soon cleared a space around their General. But the Arabs were

only checked, not broken, and, seeing the small number of their

assailants, they prepared to renew the attack; and, had their courage

but equalled their numerical advantage, they must have annihilated the

Frenchmen.

From the French point of view, discretion was the better part of valor,

and St. Just saw the means of putting that better part into execution;

for it so happened that, once more, he was close to the Lady Halima's

abode. To suggest to Buonaparte that they should take refuge there, to

mount the General on one of his trooper's horses, and to gallop at full

speed through the gateway of the house was the work but of a few

seconds. Before the astonished Arabs had divined their object, the

whole squadron had passed through, and the entrance to the courtyard had

been barred.

St. Just's heart beat high at the thought that, for the second time, it

seemed likely he would have to defend the house of his lady love; but,

on this occasion, with the added responsibility for the safety of his

Commander's person.

To set against this, however, were the circumstances that they were in

sufficient numbers (fifty) to hold the place, with the protection of the

walls afforded, for a considerable time, and were well-armed; not, as on

the previous occasion, with obsolete and rusty weapons.

But, fortunately, the valor and endurance of the party were not put to

the test; for the arrangements for defence had scarcely been completed,

when the march of infantry was heard approaching at the double. A

French regiment was passing the end of the narrow street on its way to

the citadel, news having been received that most of the rioters were

assembled there.

At the sound of their footsteps, some of St. Just's troopers leaned out

of the windows and shouted for help. At once the men were halted, then

wheeled round and up the street. The effect was magical! with shouts

and cries of terror, the crowd of Arabs assembled before the Lady

Halima's house, without making the slightest show of fight, took to

their heels and ran helter-skelter up the street and out at the end,

some of the French soldiers chasing them to that point. Then the door

of the house was opened, and one of the troopers informed the commanding

officer the meaning of their presence there, and that General Buonaparte

was with them. At this unlooked for news, the officer said he would see

the General and take his orders.

Now, though when the attack was made on him, Buonaparte was on his way

to the citadel, at the sight of the Lady Halima he--always an admirer of

the other sex--was so captivated by her beauty, that he gladly accepted

her invitation to remain for breakfast. So, when the Colonel of the

infantry regiment was introduced to him, instead of taking advantage of

his escort to continue his journey to the citadel, he contented himself

with giving the officer certain orders, among which was that he was to

keep open communications between the house in which they were, and the

citadel; and to let him know if his presence should be urgently

required. Failing any such message, he, Buonaparte, would be at the

citadel in two hours time.

Then he dismissed the Colonel and he and St. Just sat down to breakfast

with the Lady Halima in the women's apartment. It brought to St. Just

the remembrance of that first repast he had taken with her in that very

room, nearly three months before, and in somewhat similar circumstances.

Now, as then, there were sounds of firing in the distance, and the tramp

of feet and the rattle of arms awoke the echoes of the court-yard below.

But in the room itself how different was the state of things. She had

been his sole companion on that memorable morning, and he had been the

object of her assiduous courtesy; now, in the presence of this

all-conquering young General, he was a sort of "quantite negligeable."

As before, the sun-light fell with full effect upon her lovely face, now

filled with animation, her eyes sparkling with delight, the while she

gayly chatted with the "man of destiny" who was seated upon the divan

facing her. Buonaparte, for once, had cast off the iron mask of

coldness and impenetrability he usually wore, and was basking in the

sunshine of her smiles. For the time the cares of his position had been

thrust aside, and, as he himself expressed it, he was amusing himself

while Cairo was in revolt, like Nero fiddling while Rome was burning.

His chatter was not, however, altogether frivolous; occasionally he

would be serious. For instance, speaking of the city and his plans he

said, "I must confess that to-day's disturbance has surprised me. And I

had thought the future would be so easy. Alas! which one of us knows

the future?"

The girl, who had been listening intently, here interrupted with a

laugh. "You would know your future? That is told easily enough.

Remember I have been brought up in the East and have been taught to

forecast events by people who have forgotten more than you of the West

have ever heard of. I could convince you."

So saying, she clapped her hands and, before Buonaparte could object, if

indeed he had wished to do so, had said something to her slave in

Arabic, that resulted in the removal of the breakfast table and the

production of a large earthenware bowl filled apparently with water, for

she invited both men to taste it. One thing they noticed, and it was

this; that, though the bowl was shallow and the sunlight shone around on

the table on which it stood, it did not seem to shine upon the water,

which looked black as ink.

Presently from a flask, she took from a corner cabinet the girl let fall

a drop of liquid into the bowl; then, bending over, she gazed into it in

silence, and both her companions did the same. Now, whether the act of

fixing their eyes intently on the bowl, in a measure hypnotized them, so

that their brains became enslaved by her suggestions, it is not for the

present chronicler to say; but, in a few seconds, pictures seemed to

form themselves on the surface of the inky looking liquid in the bowl.

At first the images presented appeared blurred and misty; but,

gradually, they took definite shapes. In the first picture Buonaparte

was seated on a throne and on his head was a golden crown, and Josephine

his wife was by his side, she also crowned. Gradually the figures faded

and disappeared. Next St. Just saw himself on a prison floor chained to

the wall and with the visage of a madman. In the next tableau there

were many figures dressed in generals' uniforms, and Buonaparte in their

midst. It was night and they were seated round a camp fire; from the

expression on the faces of all, very serious matters were engaging their

attention; and scattered around were dead and wounded men and horses and

broken weapons and accoutrements. This scene also passed away. In that

which followed Buonaparte and St. Just were driving in a sleigh, and in

front of them was a woman beckoning to them. Her face was unknown to

both; upon her head was the crown that Buonaparte's wife had worn in the

first picture; and, wherever she pointed was desolation, the desolation

that comes to a country over which an invading army has passed; and

across the picture was written "France." The next tableau was a battle

field. On a mound, surrounded by generals, but slightly in advance of

them, and mounted on a white horse, was Buonaparte, but looking older

and stouter. A short distance from him, soldiers were massed about a

large farmhouse, which they were attacking, and which was being defended

by other soldiers within. The scene changed; troops were flying in all

directions--the French--the figure of Buonaparte among them. Yet one

more scene; a lonely rock-bound islet in a boundless sea. The moon and

stars overhead showed that it was night. On a narrow bed in a plainly

furnished room lay Buonaparte; and at the door there stood a soldier in

a uniform that was not that of France. 'Twas plain his duty was to

guard a captive! This vision, like those which had preceded it,

vanished, and the liquid mirror in the bowl revealed no further

pictures.

St. Just raised his head from the bowl and encountered the troubled gaze

of Buonaparte; while, seated hard by on a divan, was the girl. There

was silence for a space. It was Halima who broke it.

"Have you seen enough, Sir?" she said, turning to the General. "Or

would you see more?"

Buonaparte's answer was to overturn the table; the bowl fell and was

smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor. Then a sudden light leapt

into those awful eyes, and he broke forth into a torrent of reproach.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked angrily, turning to St. Just. "Am

I to be insulted, fooled by such mummeries as these? As for you, girl,

did I but know your father, I would send you to him dead." And he

hissed out the last words, his face white with passion.

And St. Just, who loved the girl and was rightly counted brave, and

would have struck to the earth any other man who had so spoken, was so

dominated by the glance of this little man, whom physically he could

easily have crushed the life out of; that he sat unmoved and

tongue-tied.

Not so the girl; with face aflame and flashing eyes, she sprang to her

feet and faced the conqueror; then thus she spoke, "My father the Sheik

Ibrahim of the tribe of Auim (faithful) has with him many warriors who

would avenge my death by killing you."

Buonaparte made no reply to her, but addressed himself to the young

officer. "Captain," he said, "Assemble your troop and attend me to the

Citadel. We have dallied here too long." Then, turning to the Lady

Halima, "I thank you, madame, for your hospitality and the timely

shelter of your house. Adieu. I doubt not we shall meet again." He

bowed to her and strode quickly from the room. She made no answer, but

merely inclined her head. But to St. Just, who followed Buonaparte, she

nodded smilingly, and, just when he was passing through the doorway, the

words were wafted to him, "You will come to see me soon, my Captain."

On their way to the Citadel and the moment they were out of hearing,

Buonaparte made reference to the Arab girl's remark. "You heard what

she said about her father," he said, "and the men under his command. He

will be useful to me; he must be gained somehow. I shall send you to

him." Then he relapsed into silence, and no further word was uttered

till they reached the Citadel.

Here they found all quiet; the incipient insurrection had been quelled

before it had attained dangerous dimensions.

The news of the attempt on Buonaparte's life had reached the French,

and, when he made his appearance, loud huzzahs were raised, and many of

his officers pressed forward to congratulate him on his escape. Among

these were Kleber, and Buonaparte's secretary, Bourrienne. Him the

General hailed.

"Ah! Bourrienne!" he cried; "the very man I want. Get writing

materials, and pen me what I shall dictate."

The letter presently dictated was addressed to the Sheik Ibrahim,

Halima's father, urging him to join forces with the French and, while

pointing out the hopelessness of opposition, and the certainty of the

eventual victory of the invaders, promising him great rewards for his

assistance.

The letter was dictated in the hearing of St. Just, for Buonaparte

wished him to know its contents. When it was finished, he turned to the

young man and handed it to him with the words, "You will take a squadron

of men and go to this Ibrahim with this letter, and use your best

endeavors to induce him to adopt my views. I have heard of this man; he

is a powerful chief. I think you will either fall in with him, or gain

news of him in the neighborhood of the third cataract, near Abu Klea.

But his daughter can inform you."

"How soon do I start, General?" asked St. Just, in a tone that was none

of the liveliest. He had had his fill of desert rides, and looked

forward to the coming expedition with anything but pleasure.

"To-morrow at day-break," was the General's reply. "Meanwhile your time

is at your own disposal." Then, turning to Kleber, who was standing by,

"General, give Captain St. Just a squadron of Arabs you can trust, and

an interpreter for service in the desert, in case this sheik should not

know French."

"I will see to it, Sir," was Kleber's answer. "The men shall be in

readiness at day-break."

Then, with a nod, Buonaparte dismissed St. Just.

Much as he disliked the prospect of the mission that had been confided

to him, there was a temporary solace in the excuse it gave him for once

more calling on Halima; and not more than two hours after he and General

Buonaparte had left her, she was astonished to receive the announcement

of his return.

She advanced smilingly to meet him, but with a look of inquiry on her

face. "I am delighted to see you again so soon, Captain St. Just, but I

am not so vain as to attribute your call to my attractions, or even to

your courtesy. Besides, I see trouble in your face. Are you the bearer

of bad news?"

Then St. Just told her of his coming journey, and how loath he was to

leave Cairo, where she was, and to face the hardships of the desert, of

which he had already had so painful an experience.

When she learned his destination, she told him she would write a letter

to her father, if he would bear it to him; and, there and then, she sat

down and wrote it, inscribing it with her father's name and present

resting-place, so far as she believed. Handing it to the young

Frenchman, she said, "I have told my father all that you have done for

me, and I have prayed him to protect you and put you on your way. Also

I have told him of Yusuf's treachery towards a daughter of the house of

"Auim." She drew herself up proudly when she mentioned her tribe's

name. "He will punish Yusuf either with banishment for ever from the

tribe, or with death."

St. Just took the letter from her, but his hand trembled with

excitement, and he could scarce find words in which to thank her, for

stress of the passion that was surging like a torrent in his breast. He

tried to stem it, but it would not be confined, and at last broke forth.

"Oh, Halima!" he cried. "It is not the perils of the desert that alarm

me; what cuts me to the heart is that I must leave you; for I love you,

I love you; I feel that I cannot live without you. Until I saw you, my

heart yearned only for military glory--to rise in my profession; but

now--now I would forfeit every prospect, all else that I hold dear, if I

might win your love. Tell me, lady, is there no cord in your heart that

vibrates in unison with my own? Surely such love as mine cannot be all

in vain. Oh, if you could only know its strength, you would pity me with

such pity that, close behind it, would follow its half-sister, Love.

Speak, Halima, and end my torture."

He stood back to feed his eyes upon her beauty, his breast panting and

heaving in his excitement.

And she? Gradually her creamy complexion took on a warmer hue, until

her face and neck were colored like the rose; the long, dark lashes

veiled her limpid eyes; she raised her hand; then, to the young

officer's wonder and consternation, with a little cry of joy, she ran to

him and threw herself on her knees before him. "My love! my lord! my

master!" she murmured rapturously. Then she seized his hand and covered

it with kisses.

But to have a woman kiss his hand was more than he could bear. A

feeling of shame came over him; it seemed so utter a reversal of what

was fitting. The blood rushed to his face.

"Not there," he cried. "But here, close to my heart, my Halima." He

raised her from the ground and folded her in his arms, she hiding her

face upon his shoulder.

The hours that followed for the lovers seemed to travel with the speed

of light, for they were given up wholly to loving dalliance and

endearing phrases, that never seemed to weary the performers; and it was

not till night was well advanced, that St. Just tore himself from the

arms of the Arab girl, whom he had pledged himself to make his own, on

his return, and who on her part had sworn fidelity to him.

*CHAPTER IX.*

The sun had all but vanished below the horizon; in its departure

lighting up the almost cloudless heavens with masses and streaks and

rays of every hue from blood red to golden yellow--Nature's glorious

tints, to be seen in their fullest beauty only in the East. But the

beauty of this particular sunset no one witnessed; for taking a trio of

palm trees set in a little patch of vegetation, as the point of vision,

an observer placed there would have looked in vain, North, South, East

and West for the slightest sign of life. In every direction for leagues

upon leagues, as far as the eye could travel was the boundless desert.

Not a single object broke the dead level of the sand. The solitude was

supreme, the silence awful. Presently, when the sun was on the point of

sinking out of sight, a little breath of wind from the direction of the

waning light sprang up, sending a shiver through the palm plumes aloft,

and rustling the herbage at their base; the deadly stillness was at an

end.

Then, if the imaginary watcher by the palm trees had looked North, he

would have noticed a little cloud upon the level plain; next a blurred

mass of something. Gradually he would have seen this something expand

and develop, until, finally, it took form in the shape of a troop of

horsemen. On they came, a company of from thirty to forty, shaping

their course for the little oasis about the palm trees, the eagerly

sought mark of a resting place for the tired traveler and his beast,

where the former hopes he will obtain both food and water.

Ten minutes later, they had reached their goal. Both men and horses

were covered with dust and sweat, and were dropping with fatigue; and it

was plain that they had traveled far and fast. Then, at the word of

command, each man dismounted and began to water his horse, before

attending to his own requirements. The man who gave the order, the

reader has met before. He was St. Just; he was on the mission to the

sheik with which General Buonaparte had entrusted him, and he expected

in a few days to accomplish it.

He vaulted from his saddle; then, having unstrapped his cloak, he patted

the neck of the grey stallion lovingly, for the good horse had carried

him many a weary mile right gallantly. Then he glanced, with a laugh,

at his dusty uniform. It was frayed and torn and soiled; yet he wore it

with a glow of pride; for was it not the visible sign of his fellowship

with that brave army which had proved itself invincible, and was still

adding to the glory and the possessions of his country?

Be sure that he first attended to his gallant charger's wants. Then he

went round among his men to see that they had looked properly to theirs.

This duty performed, he sat down to eat his lonely supper; for lonely he

was, his only companions being his Arab escort, with whom, though they

were friendly, he had naught in common.

When he had finished his scanty meal, he seated himself at the foot of

one of the palms, set light to his pipe, and gave himself up to thought.

It was now six weeks since he had started on this mission. He cursed

the luck that had deprived him of the presence of his lady love and, at

the same time, of gaining glory in the field of battle under Buonaparte.

Was he never to have the same chance as had his brothers in arms of

winning renown? He wondered what they were doing at that moment, and

what was Halima; was she thinking of him?

Though it was irksome and fatiguing, he had not found desert life

altogether uneventful; the various difficulties and dangers he had

encountered on his journey had prevented that; for instance, on one

occasion, owing to the lowness of the Nile, the boat, in which he and

some of his men were crossing, had been stranded for hours upon a shoal,

and they had been in imminent danger of being drowned. Another time,

they had drifted on the rocks at one of the great cataracts, a boat had

been dashed to pieces and ten of his followers drowned. Then they had

marched for days, without getting to any place where they could purchase

remounts; so that, at last, their horses had become so utterly exhausted

that they had had to rest for several days to recruit, before

proceeding. Besides this, repeated dashes had been made upon them by

marauding Arabs they had fallen in with by the way. Thus his original

fifty men had been reduced by one mishap and another to thirty-five; and

the sullen indifference of these, and his fears of treachery on their

part, sorely tried his temper and filled him with anxiety. Further, he

was beginning to feel much solicitude about the outcome of his mission;

for he was now nearing his journey's end, and expected to make his

destination in a day or two.

Altogether he was in no happy frame of mind on that November night,

while he sat silent in that desolate waste, with his eyes fixed on the

glowing embers of the fire, listening drowsily to the movements of the

tethered animals and the monotonous tramp of the sentry on the sand hill

just above him. Presently he shivered and drew his cloak more closely

round him. Then, gradually, his head sank and soon, with the remainder

of the camp, he slept.

* * * * *

The hours wore on. Meanwhile the solitary watcher paced up and down

upon his beat, scanning the Eastern sky intently for the first signs of

coming day. In his eagerness, he halted for several minutes, and fixed

his eyes upon the quarter in which the sun would rise. In his

preoccupation, he failed to notice what the camels stretched below him

did, that a body of horsemen about a hundred and fifty strong were

approaching from the West. The sand muffled the sound of their horses'

hoofs. But one old camel heard it; like the veritable desert warrior he

was, he raised his head and snorted loudly. At this, the musing

sentinel turned round. Too late he saw their danger; the horde was

sweeping down, in a rapidly converging semicircle, upon the sleeping

camp. It was his last sight on earth; a shot rang out upon the air, and

he fell upon his face, struck dead. The next moment, with a resounding

yell, the hostile Arabs dashed upon the sleepers.

The shot that slew the sentry roused St. Just; he sprang to his feet and

rushed to his horse. Two or three others did the same and, mounting,

galloped off into the darkness, a hailstorm of bullets in their wake.

One of these grazed the gray stallion and made him restless, so that he

would not stand for St. Just to mount him. While he was still striving

to effect his purpose, the enemy came pouring into the camp on every

side, ruthlessly slaying St. Just's half-awakened escort. One of the

assailants, seeing by the moonlight St. Just's white face, uttered a cry

of joy and threw over his head a noose, then drew him backwards suddenly

and sent him to the ground, with a crash that momentarily stunned him.

When he came to himself, which he quickly did, he found that he was

being searched from head to foot; the noose was tightly bound about his

chest, confining his arms behind his back, thus rendering him wholly

incapable of resistance. Watch, money, knife, sword, pistol--and, worst

of all, his despatches were being passed from hand to hand amidst cries

and yells from the crowd around him. One thing only escaped their

notice, and that was his darling's locket.

Presently a tall man with a coal black beard came up and spoke to him in

French. "Are you not he that rode the gray horse at the battle of

Embabe?"

"I am," replied St. Just, expecting that, there and then, an end would

be put to his existence.

"I was sure of it," muttered his interlocutor; then turned to his

followers and said something in Arabic that St. Just failed to catch,

but it stirred them greatly, for instantly arose a hoarse murmur of

anger and disappointment. The man who seemed to be their leader,

quieted them by raising his hand, as would a huntsman to his hounds,

saying, at the same time, "I will it." Then returned again to St. Just,

who, having regained his composure, thus addressed him.

"Kill me, if you will; but I pray you forward my despatches to him to

whom they are addressed. One of them is a letter from a daughter to her

father. Have pity upon his gray hairs, if you have none for me."

"That is for the Chief to say," retorted the bearded man. "March!" he

wound up.

In obedience to the order, St. Just set out. Oh, the torture that

followed when, at the will of his savage captors, he was compelled by

the stress of the rope, though he was on foot, to keep up with his

mounted escort, and all the while his chest so confined by his bonds

that he could not breath freely. When he lagged, he was urged on and

dragged forward with the rope. And, meanwhile, he had the mortification

of seeing his own gray horse bestridden by the bearded warrior.

At last, after ten hours of this misery, they came in sight of the Nile,

on whose bank, under the shadow of overhanging rocks, was pitched what

was evidently the temporary encampment of the tribe.

The squadron halted and were immediately surrounded by a crowd of women

and children and barking dogs, who indiscriminately greeted the

returning warriors. Looking about him from the spot where he lay

guarded by four men, who regarded him with no friendly eye, St. Just

noted that most of the tents had been struck and that, before his

arrival, active preparations had been made for a move; also that the

main body were eagerly questioning his captors, who, in reply,

vociferated loudly and pointed at him with lively gesticulations. Such

was the babel of sounds around him, that he could make nothing of their

conversation, and, indeed, was in no condition to try, worn out, as he

was, in mind and body. He lay in the shadow of a camel, where he had

thrown himself upon his arrival, and, at last, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was dusk, and, while he yet struggled between sleeping

and waking, his guards came to him and dragged him to his feet; then

drove him unceremoniously towards the pile of rocks. Here, in their

shadow, squatting in dignified silence around a fire in front of a large

tent, were from ten to twenty aged men--apparently the counsellors of

the camp. St. Just was placed in the center, near the fire, whose

strong light was shed upon his features, immediately facing the opening

of the tent, where he could just make out the form of some one seated.

At this juncture, a little breeze sprang up, fanning the fire into

greater brightness; so that St. Just could now discern the features of

those about him. Seated within three feet of him upon a square carpet,

was one of the oldest men he had ever seen. His beard was white as

snow, and so long that it swept the ground in front of him. It was

impossible to guess his age, for, save for his eyes, which sparkled

brightly, he looked like a living corpse.

So soon as St. Just was placed before him, the old man spoke: "Let him

be unbound, but guarded."

Immediately some one behind him cut the rope, and St. Just knew that he

was free. After gazing at him for a moment, the old man called, "Ben

Idherim!"

Out of the throng there strode the man who had been leader of the band

that had captured St. Just, and, forthwith, he told how he had swooped

down upon the camp; accompanying his recital with expressive gestures.

St. Just looked on unmoved while, one by one, to lend vraisemblance to

the tale, the articles that had been found on him were handed round the

circle of impassive listeners. Finally Idherim produced the despatches

and was about to hand them also round, when St. Just broke silence.

"Sirs, as I said to him who has just spoken, kill me if you will, but

send on my despatches."

The old chief, who, since the sentence recorded of him, had not spoken,

and seemed to have sunk into a stupor, merely nodding his head

occasionally when some point in his lieutenant's speech gained his

approval, now looked up and fixed his eyes upon St. Just, who stood

there pale, travel-stained and weary, but fearless and almost defiant.

"Why so; what would you?" he inquired.

"Sir, one is my general's letter to a chief to whom I was journeying,

when stopped, and the other is from the chief's daughter telling of her

safety. Again I say, I ask not for my life. Do with me what you will.

All I pray is that both letters may be sent on; the one, that my General

may know me to be faithful; the other, that a father may have tidings of

his daughter."

The old man's reply was short and sharp. "Give me the letters." They

were handed to him, and then, to the surprise of the young Frenchman, he

broke the seals and began to read them.

At this moment, a man came out of the darkness and sat down by the

chief's side; plainly he was on intimate terms with him. At first, St.

Just regarded him idly, out of mere curiosity; then, as though in a

dream, the present scene was blotted out, and he saw himself again in

Cairo, and in front of him was a house, and from that house came forth a

man bearing a woman on his shoulder. Quick as lightning did this scene

flash across him, and as quickly did it pass, and he was once more in

the present. Forgetting his position as a captive, and with the cry of

"Yusuf!" on his lips, he sprang forward and made a rush at the new

comer.

Instantly the latter started to his feet. In a moment he had recognized

the speaker, and, drawing a pistol, he fired point blank at the French

officer. The bullet whizzed past his head and flattened itself against

the rock behind him.

At a word from the chief, four men sprang up and seized the would-be

assassin and bore him out of sight. This done, the old man thus

addressed his counsellors. "Yusuf, because he is my nephew, have I

spared; but for that, he would have died; first, because he deserted my

daughter the lady Halima, when the invaders came; secondly, because he

has outraged justice by firing upon a prisoner undergoing trial. For

this I have decreed that Yusuf be banished from our tribe for ever."

A murmur of approbation went round the circle. The chief continuing,

addressed St. Just, "As to you, know that I am him you seek; and this is

my answer to your General's letter. For myself and on behalf of my

tribe, I refuse to accede to his request. No bribes or promises shall

make me turn my arms against my country. Yet, because he has spared my

daughter, will I stand aloof; I will take no part against him. You can

tell him this, if you live to see him. But the chances are against you,

for you, a messenger of peace, have fired upon my tribe."

The venerable gentleman forgot to state that his people began the

firing; possibly, in the one-sided view he took, he overlooked it. "For

this," he went on, "justice demands that there shall be shot for shot;

accordingly, you will take your stand on the top of yonder rock, and ten

of the youngest of the camp children of those able to bear arms, shall

fire a shot each at you. If you survive, then shall you go free. As I

have said, so let it be."

He ceased speaking, whereupon the circle broke up, and all took up a

position in front of the tent.

Now, the distance from the rock to the tent was but forty yards, and the

rock itself, on the top of which St. Just soon found himself, tied so

that he could not move, was about twenty feet high by only two feet

broad. And here he stood, looking down upon the scene upon which the

silvery moonbeams fell, waiting for the death he felt was close upon

him. Outwardly he was calm, for he had faced death too often to display

fear of it; but a tumult raged within his breast. It was hard to die so

young, and, for an instant, such anguish took possession of him that,

but that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, he would have

pleaded for mercy; but, the next moment, the word 'Courage' was

whispered in his ear, and the voice that whispered it was Halima's.

Doubtless this was the result of imagination acting on an overwrought

mind, but it steadied him, and his failing heart revived.

The next instant, there was a flash, followed by the ping of a bullet,

and the report of a gun echoing among the rocks. A voice below counted

"One," in Arabic; then there was a pause. The bullet had missed. The

second, aimed better, grazed his ear. The third passed through the

fleshy part of his shoulder and buried itself in the stake behind him.

The fourth and fifth shots hit the rock at his feet; and the sixth

passed through the rope that bound him, almost severing it. The

seventh, eighth and ninth flew wide. After that, there was a long

pause.

Presently the Frenchman heard a howl of exultation, and a tall, graceful

youth took his place in front of the living target, resting his weapon

on the ground, with the air of a practiced marksman. From where he

stood, St. Just could see the youngster's black eyes twinkling with joy,

while he glanced along the barrel; for was he not the best shot of the

tribe, and his aim deadly? A second's pause, then, carefully pressing

the trigger, the marksman fired.

St. Just felt as though a hot iron had seared his side, and he knew that

he was hit. Unconsciously, he bounded into the air with the shock;

thereby bursting the already half severed rope. Then, falling over and

over, he landed, not on the ground, but on a projecting corner where he

was held suspended by his tunic.

When he recovered consciousness, he found himself lying in a tent, and

by him was the Sheik, holding in his hand the locket of Halima, the case

deeply dented with a bullet mark.

"But for this, you would have died," exclaimed the Sheik. "Further had

I read the whole of my daughter's letter, Yusuf would have taken your

place. Now, rest yourself, assured that you have the friendship of one

who is strong to help alike in hate and love."

On the morrow St. Just lay unconscious in a raging fever.

*CHAPTER X.*

But what of the Lady Halima, who had not seen her lover, or had any

tidings of him for six weary weeks?

At the very moment when St. Just was undergoing his fearful ordeal on

the rock, she was wandering restlessly, feverishly, about her own

apartments, her thoughts wholly occupied with him. Indeed, ever since

they had been parted, she had thought of little else. But, whereas,

generally, her reflections, though she felt saddened by his absence,

were tinged with pleasure at the thought of his handsome face and form,

his bravery, his return to her with credit to himself for the successful

performance of his mission; to-night they were full of gloom. She had a

presentiment, she strove in vain to dissipate, that her beloved was in

the direst peril. She was endowed with a more than ordinary share of

that faculty which places us en rapport with those with whom we have a

strong affinity; so that, even when separated by thousands of miles from

those we love, we feel, rather than know, that misfortune is overtaking

them.

And so it was that Halima; convinced of her lover's danger and her

helplessness to avert it, she paced up and down the room wringing her

hands, the tears trickling down her cheeks, and continually crying, "Oh!

Henri, Henri, what is it that is happening to you, my love? My heart

tells me that you are in dreadful peril; and I--I am powerless. Oh! why

did you leave me?"

At the thought that she would never see him more, Halima became so

overcome that she burst into a flood of weeping and sank upon a divan,

burying her fair face in its cushions. And thus, somewhat later, she

was found by Buonaparte, who, since his aide-de-camp's departure had

been a not infrequent visitor. Unheard by her, he entered the room,

wrapped in an ample cloak, and silently approached her side; then, with

arms folded, stood looking down upon her.

Feeling intuitively that she was not alone, Halima raised her

tear-stained face, and her eyes fell on the General. She gave a little

start, then feebly tried to smile. Buonaparte dropped his cloak and

seated himself upon the cushions by her side.

"What ails you, fairest one?" he asked. "Why this grief? I would come

to see you oftener, but my leisure hours are few, so that I cannot visit

you so often as I would. Come, pretty one, dry those tears, and tell me

what it is that troubles you."

Now Halima, having known Buonaparte for hard on two months, had learned

something of his disposition; and she feared to tell him that she loved

St. Just. So, bringing her feelings under some control, she answered,

"Alas, Sir, I wept, because the memory came back to me that I had

annoyed you, when, wishing to amuse, I pretended to forecast your

future. But indeed, General, I was not serious; and, surely, you did

not so take me."

If she thought that by this speech she had cleverly put him off the

scent of her real sentiments, she mistook her man. He tapped the floor

impatiently with his foot and answered fretfully, "Tut, tut, that is all

past and gone. It cannot be that which troubles you. Is it not rather

the absence of the handsome Captain? By my soul, I am greatly in his

debt for introducing me to so fair a flower." And he looked ardently at

Halima.

Now, when a victorious General, and, moreover, a youthful one, lays

himself out to captivate a woman, she feels flattered by his notice, and

he rarely fails. The present instance was no exception to the rule, for

a smile broke out on the fair lady's face, and she gave him a glance

that told even more than words.

"But fret not for him," Buonaparte went on; "he is not worth your tears;

forecast his future, as you profess you can, and you will see that it is

so. Even I am seer enough to tell, without the aid of magic bowls, what

he is doing. I know what my young officers are, and he is no exception.

Doubtless he is at this moment flirting with some dusky beauty on the

banks of the Nile, while his men are resting for the night."

Then he leaned back in his seat to see how she would take his

reflections on her lover's want of constancy; at the same time he was

furtively casting his eyes in his cold, calculating way, upon her

charms; though, apparently examining his hands, of whose delicate

whiteness he was inordinately vain.

But the way that she received his words astonished him. Indignant at his

sneering accents, stung by the suggestion that any other woman could

take her place in St. Just's affections, her jealousy aflame at the

thought that perhaps there was some truth in it, and anxious to defend

the absent one, she threw prudence to the winds, and gave her feelings

play.

Springing from the divan, she turned and faced the General, her eyes

flashing with the scorn and anger he had enkindled.

"If all men were as you suppose," she cried, "then should I pity women.

But it is not so. To seek to make me jealous by hinting that the man I

love--yes, I love him, and I glory in it--and shall love so long as I

draw breath, has forgotten me and is dallying with another woman, is

unworthy of the conqueror of Egypt. You have dared me to peer into the

future, to learn my lover's doings and his fate. I fearlessly accept

your challenge. Doubtless I shall find that many dangers will beset

him, for, in these perilous times, it can scarce be otherwise; but, be

that as it may, of this I am well assured, that, whatever the future has

in store for him, in the end, he will be more fortunate than yourself,

who, though you will rise to the highest point of human greatness, will

not retain it--not even the freedom of the humblest subaltern in your

army. Your insatiable ambition will prove your fall. Now you know my

feelings towards Henri St. Just. I had meant to keep my secret. But

what I feel for him can be of no consequence to you; and I am sure you

will not let it prejudice him. But if I thought that you would harm

him, I would this instant bid you begone, and would look upon your face

no more. And, had I ever feared you on his account, this city weeks ago

would have no longer held us, for you would have been no more, and I

should have fled with my lover to the desert. But now to read his

fate."

And she turned from him and began to make her preparations for diving

into the unseen.

Now, although what she had said had sunk deep into his breast and

rankled there, Buonaparte did net suffer his resentment and his wounded

pride to show upon the surface. But he stored it up against her, adding

it to the grievance of her previous forecast of his future. He meant to

make this woman his, and his anger made him all the more determined; but

the fruit was not yet ripe for plucking, albeit it was maturing fast.

Clever actor as he was, there were few better able to disguise their

feelings. He broke into a little laugh and then replied:--

"I crave your pardon, gentle lady;" he laughed to himself at the irony

of the epithet; "in that unconsciously I have angered you. I little

thought that my soldier's badinage would have let loose so impetuous a

torrent of wrath from the lips of so beauteous a creature. Happy St.

Just to have such a champion. But one thing I have to urge in my

excuse; I knew not that he was so favored, for you had never let fall a

word to that intent. Forgive me then, fair Halima; I will not so offend

again." Then, after a short pause, during which he watched her

movements, he resumed, "well, is the magic bowl in order? I would see

how far the outcome of your incantations will give the lie to my jesting

prophecy."

The preparations had given the girl the time and opportunity for

regaining her self-control and recognizing the folly of making an enemy

of Buonaparte. She laughed gayly; then placed the crystal bowl upon a

table near the divan and, as on the former occasion, dropped some of the

mysterious fluid into it.

"Now it is ready," she said.

Eagerly both craned their necks forward over the bowl and gazed intently

into the clear black fluid.

At first, nothing was to be seen; then, gradually, in the depths of the

fluid could be discerned the outline of a rock, which, by degrees,

became more and more distinct. Then it was seen that on the summit of it

was a figure made fast to a stake. Next an Arab came in sight, and he

leveled a matchlock at the captive man, who was standing with head bent

low upon his breast. There was a puff of smoke; the human target

bounded up in the air, then fell headlong from the rock and into space,

disclosing in his fall the features of St. Just!

At this, Halima removed her gaze and uttered a piercing shriek; the

spell was broken, the picture vanished; nothing but the smoke-black

surface of the liquid in the bowl remained.

Then, "Mon Dieu!" she cried, "it cannot be; it must be false;" and, with

that, fell fainting at the feet of Buonaparte.

For the moment, he also was staggered by the vision; but his

bewilderment did not last long. He broke into an unpleasant laugh, and

turned his gaze on the unconscious girl. "True, or not, it is as

marvelous as it is unaccountable. As for St. Just, I am persuaded he is

dead. I am sorry, for he was a good officer, and he saved my life. I

wish I had not sent him on this mission."

For a few seconds, he felt a touch of genuine regret, not unmixed with

remorse, and the feeling showed itself in his usually impassive face.

Then, a glance at the unconscious girl turned his thoughts into a fresh

channel. Bah! regrets were vain and childish; St. Just was gone; 'twas

a pity; but the girl remained and no one now stood between her and him.

He turned his attention to her, and, by dint of fanning her and

sprinkling her with water, in a short time he was rewarded by seeing her

languidly unclose her eyes in returning consciousness. He now raised

her from the ground, and placed her on the divan. At first her eyes

wandered vaguely round the room, as though in search of something that

she missed. As yet, memory had not returned; but the blessing of

forgetfulness was not granted her for long; soon she knew all that had

occurred, and with the knowledge, she burst into a flood of tears.

Buonaparte made no attempt to restrain her sobs; he knew her weeping

would be the sooner over, if unchecked until it had spent its force. He

sat beside her, watching her in silence. Gradually the heaving became

slower and more regular in its movements; the sobs less frequent; the

tears, instead of streaming down her cheeks, now came only in odd drops,

and presently, with a long-drawn sigh, they ceased.

Then Buonaparte gazed tenderly into the liquid depths of the glistening

eyes, and took one of her little hands in his. Forgotten was his own

charming wife in distant Paris, in the fascination of the little Arab

beauty, and, bending over her, he murmured in the thrilling tone he well

knew how to use as often as occasion served, "Dear heart, let me console

you. To regret is weak, is useless; it will not bring him back. You

may think me hard and cruel; but be advised by me, when I tell you that

the easiest way to solace one's self for a lover's loss is to install

another in his place. Come then to me, and I will teach you so to love,

that you will say that all your previous experiences were but a parody

of the passion."

He spoke with such ardor that she could not but be moved. Still, she

shook her head petulantly, but she did not withdraw her hand, and her

glance showed no displeasure. And so, for a short time, they sat in

silence, Buonaparte still holding her hand, and fearing to break the

spell by speaking.

His patience was rewarded, for, presently, she spoke in a voice that

trembled slightly, but still was clear and sweet, and her eyes were

turned on him, in such wise that he felt himself bewitched and consumed

try his desire.

"If I could have absolute faith in what my eyes have seen this night,"

she said, "I would consider your proposal, which, in your position, is

most flattering; for I know that you will rise--aye faster than has

risen any other man before. And those who join themselves with you will

rise with you. See," she continued, getting up and walking to the open

window. She flung open the lattice and, pointing to one of the many

stars with which the sky was studded, "Right over your head you behold

yon star. It is the star that rules your destiny. Each one of us in

coming into this world has his particular star that brightens with his

rise, with his fall, and dies with him. But the majority of persons are

so commonplace and unimportant that their stars are so small as to be

invisible. It is only the great ones of the earth whose stars can be

observed. My mother told me that it is the same in her

country--France--that, when a star is seen falling from the sky, some

soul is quitting its earthly tenement.

"Mark well your star and watch its varying brilliancy, and, when you see

that lessening, be warned and pause in your career; if not, be well

assured that, for all your many victories--and those you have already

won are as nothing to those in store for you--the time will come when

you will suffer a defeat so crushing that it will put the finishing

stroke to your career."

She ceased, and, at first, Buonaparte made no reply, but stood gazing at

the star she had pointed out, now twinkling dimly before the approaching

dawn. Not that he paid any heed to her "prophetic vaporings," as,

mentally, he termed them. He was thinking over her statement that, if

assured of her lover's death, she might entertain his (Buonaparte's)

proposal; and conning how he might convince her that St. Just was dead;

for he had conceived a burning passion for this woman.

Then he turned from the window and thus addressed her. "Fair Halima, I

thank you for your warning, and it shows you take an interest in me. I

may, therefore, hope that in time your spark of interest may kindle into

the flame of love. With you always at my side to scan the heavens for

me and give me warning, failure would be impossible. Come to me, then,

and share the greatness that is in store for me. Why remain faithful to

what is but a tender memory; why deny your youth and beauty the

pleasures that are their due. You have proved to your own satisfaction

that St. Just is dead, and----"

"Sir," she interrupted him, "I am but a beginner in my art; and the

Fates sometimes play us false. A woman is influenced more by instinct

than by reason. Now, my instinct, or my heart--call it which you

will--tells me that to-night my vision has been distorted, that my eyes

have seen that which was not true. If I had absolute proof that St.

Just is dead I--I might----" She ceased, not knowing how to complete

her sentence; her thoughts had out-run her powers of speech. She cast

down her eyes and the blood rushed to her face in her confusion.

And the man noticed it and was quick to take advantage of her

implication. "You might learn to love me," he exclaimed; and there was

a note of triumph in his tone.

Halima marked it and hastened to reply, "Nay, Sir, you do violence to my

thoughts, and make my word out-run them. I said not aught of love."

Buonaparte eyed her keenly. "For the present," he said, "I will be

satisfied with your unspoken thought. But you talked of proof of your

lover's death. Alas! I fear it will be only too easy to obtain. I

doubt not that, before a month is out, I shall bring you such evidence

as it will be impossible to disbelieve."

"But how will you convince me? Nothing short of the evidence of

eye-witnesses will do it."

"You forget that St. Just had an escort of fifty tried and faithful

Arabs. If one or more of these should testify to his death, would you

then believe?"

And she, strong in her belief that St. Just would die, ere he would

suffer himself to be taken captive--in which case the vision must have

been false--assented. She knew her lover would strain every nerve to

execute his trust; to deliver not only his General's but also her own

letter; both his honor and his love were at stake. So, in the hope that

the month's delay would bring a favorable turn in Fortune's Wheel, she

parted from her new admirer.

*CHAPTER XI.*

Buonaparte was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet; whether

the object of his pursuit was a hostile army or a woman. So, the next

morning, he started enquiries for news of St. Just amongst the chiefs

now under his sway. Failing to gain information in that quarter, he

sent his Mameluke, Roustan, with a search party in a boat up the Nile,

to learn whether any of the headmen of the villages on its bank had seen

or heard anything of the young French Officer, or any of his party of

fifty Arabs.

Day followed day with no result, until a month had slipped by since

Buonaparte's parting with the Arab girl. The General was seated one

afternoon under a tree in the garden of his house at Cairo musing on

various matters and, among them, on Halima, when word was brought to him

that Roustan was without, desiring to have speech with him.

Buonaparte ordered the messenger to admit him instantly. When the

Mameluke entered, he bent his knee deferentially to his master, then

stood in a position of attention, waiting to be addressed.

"Well, Roustan, what news?" asked Buonaparte sharply.

"Sir," replied the faithful slave, "I have performed the commission you

entrusted to me, and have obtained certain information concerning

Captain St. Just."

"In one word," interrupted Buonaparte, "is he alive or dead?"

"He is dead, General; of that I have obtained indisputable proof."

A scarcely audible sigh escaped the General; but this was the only sign

of relief he gave. His face remained impassive as usual, nor did he

make the slightest movement.

"Proceed with the particulars," he said.

Roustan went on to relate that he had traced St. Just and his party to a

certain oasis in the desert, distant about five weeks' journey from

Cairo, and that there the trail had broken off. Not to abandon the

search, he had remained in the neighborhood for a few days, prosecuting

inquiries among the tribe that dwelt about there. He had been on the

point of giving up his quest as useless, and returning to Cairo the next

day, when he was aroused from sleep by the return of some of the tribe,

in company with four strangers. Three of these had formed part of St.

Just's escort, and the fourth was a prisoner, a renegade of the tribe of

Auim, of the name of Yusuf. Him the three others were desirous of

bringing on to Cairo, where, of course, they would have to report

themselves to their commander.

Roustan then went on as follows:

"I brought the four men on with me and they are now guarded in the

citadel, where they will remain until your pleasure concerning them

shall be known."

"You have done well, Roustan," was the General's comment, when the slave

ceased speaking; "I shall not forget to reward your services. Bring me

that little table."

There was a light writing table near at hand in the garden, and Roustan

wheeled it up to his master. Buonaparte seized a sheet of writing

paper, wrote a few lines on it rapidly, folded it up and addressed it to

the Lady Halima. It was to the effect that he had much to tell her at

eleven o'clock that night. He handed the letter to Roustan, charging

him to deliver it at once, and, having done so, to proceed to the

citadel with orders that the fourth man, Yusuf, was to be kept apart

from the others, and that all were to be strictly watched and allowed to

have no communication with any one outside.

"Inform the Governor," Buonaparte concluded, "that I shall visit them at

nine o'clock this evening, when you are to be ready to accompany me."

Then, once more commending him for his sagacity, Buonaparte waved his

hand to signify that the interview was at an end.

* * * * *

The deep tones of the bell that notified the hours was resounding

through the citadel at nine o'clock that evening, echoing along the

silent passages in the great courtyard, when Buonaparte, attended by his

body servant, passed through the arched entrance way.

Standing within the gate, a few yards from the sentry, was a figure

that, like Buonaparte, was closely muffled in a cloak. The figure

approached the newcomers and saluted.

"No formalities, General, if you please," said Buonaparte. "I prefer my

visit here to be unknown. Lead me to the prisoners."

"Will you follow me, Sir?" said the person thus addressed. Then, taking

a lighted lantern from underneath his cloak, he led the way across the

courtyard towards a low block of buildings, which he entered.

Traversing a short, dark passage, they turned to the right, and were

immediately challenged by a soldier, whose "Qui va la?" was answered by

their guide who, after giving him the countersign, ordered him to stand

aside from a heavy wooden door before which he stood on guard. Then the

guide placed the lantern on the ground, while he unlocked the door that

gave entrance to a small square chamber. In a corner of this room the

Arabs were huddled up together asleep. Round their wrists ran the light

steel chains, the ends of which were attached to staples in the wall.

Buonaparte took the lantern from their guide and, walking up to the

three sleeping figures, regarded them much as a keeper would the wild

beasts in his charge. The flashing of the lantern, dim as was its

light, awoke the sleepers, who yawned and stretched themselves. Then

they rose to a sitting posture and glared with sullen indifference and

in silence at their visitors.

Buonaparte gazed at them for a moment or two; then, turning to Roustan,

said, "Go to guard house and call a dozen men. Bring them hither and

bid them conduct these men to the house of the Lady Halima. I will

interrogate them in her presence."

Roustan salaamed and left the chamber.

"Come, General," Buonaparte went on, "we will go and see the other

prisoner."

Then he passed out, with his companion.

After walking a few paces, they came to a door, and this having been

unlocked, they found themselves in a smaller cell than that in which the

three Arabs were confined. Here, however, there was but one occupant.

Yusuf, for he it was, was, unlike the other captives, unbound, and was

pacing his cell with restless step.

At the entrance of Buonaparte and his companion, he scowled at them;

then broke into a torrent of angry words, that both his hearers found

difficult to follow.

When he ceased speaking, Buonaparte addressed him.

"You are of the tribe of Auim?" No reply. "Speak and I will free you,

if you tell me what I want to know."

"I accept," came the sullen answer; "you do not look like a man who

lies. Say on."

Buonaparte put several questions, which Yusuf answered; then he went on

to relate what the reader already knows; how that he had seen St. Just

shot at and fall headlong from the rock.

"Ha, ha!" he ended with a fiendish chuckle, "He is dead, sure enough. I

knew he would die when they shot at him." Here he stopped.

"How?" asked Buonaparte, who, during the recital, had stood leaning with

his back against the door and idly kicking one foot against the lintel.

"Because I have his amulet. That once lost, his fate was certain. See,

here it is."

And the exulting ruffian held before Buonaparte's astonished eyes the

identical trinket Josephine had given to St. Just in Paris on the night

of their meeting at the Palais de Luxembourg.

Buonaparte snatched it from him suddenly.

With a howl of rage, Yusuf dashed forward to regain it--only to meet the

point of a sword, which, gleaming at his breast, had been

instantaneously drawn by the General's companion.

Buonaparte put the jewel in his pocket and, as if abstracted, and taking

no further notice of the captive, walked from the cell. A moment later,

his companion, having locked the door, rejoined him.

Presently they reached the outer gate way, and Buonaparte, mounting his

horse, which a soldier held, galloped off into the darkness, leaving his

companion standing under the archway, lost in thought.

* * * * *

The Lady Halima was pacing her room in a lever of impatience. She had

received Buonaparte's letter, and the hour of his promised visit had

arrived. In the courtyard below, surrounded by their guards, stood the

three hapless captives. The moon's silver light fell upon them

shivering in their scanty clothing of haic and burnous--a great contrast

to the French soldiers in their uniforms, and three-cornered hats--the

two groups fair samples of the East and of the West.

Presently there was a slight movement among the French soldiers, and

their listless attitude was changed for one of expectation; at the same

time a faint sound, like that of muffled blows, could be heard in the

distance, though it scarce penetrated the thick, high walls. But, low

as it was, it reached the Lady Halima's ears, and it made her heart beat

high and brought the color to her face. The sound came nearer, and now

could plainly be recognized as the sharp trot of a horse. No wonder she

was in a fever of excitement, for she knew that Buonaparte was

approaching, and all that his visit meant for her. What had the Fates

in store for her? Was she to learn that her lover still lived, and,

having performed his mission in the desert, would soon return to her; or

that he was dead and that she must fulfill her promise and permit

Buonaparte to take his place? True, she had not promised to install him

as her lover, in so many words; but she had given him to understand that

it would be so, and she considered that she was in honor bound to give

herself to him, should he demand it; she knew she had meant this all the

time, should she receive unimpeachable evidence that St. Just no longer

lived. But she would not allow herself to think of the possibility of

his death. Ill he might be; seriously ill of fever; even grievously

wounded; but dead? No. Fate could not be so cruel.

But, should the worst have happened, she would have gone to Buonaparte's

arms without the least repugnance or sense of shame. Despite the French

strain in her, her upbringing had been an Eastern one; she was a

Mahometan and familiar with the usuages of the harem, and to the light

esteem in which Eastern women were held; so that she saw nothing

degrading, if she could not have the man she loved, in becoming the

paramour of some one else. In the case of Buonaparte, another factor

helped to influence her decision, and that was Ambition. As already

shown, she was superstitious and believed in a mysterious connection

between humanity and the stars; and, according to her reading of the

heavens, Buonaparte was destined to rise to the highest flights of

power; were she with him, she would rise with him.

To sum up, Love was easily first with her; she would sacrifice

everything for that. If St. Just lived, nothing should stand between

her and him. But, if he was dead, then she would bury Love, and install

Ambition in its place. Union with Buonaparte, at any rate, would serve

her immediate purpose--to flee from Egypt and take up her abode in

France.

She moved to the latticed window and looked out; presently she saw

Buonaparte ride into the courtyard, unattended, and dismount. Her

agitation grew almost more than she could bear, Love and Ambition being

in the balance; the most momentous question of her life was on the eve

of settlement.

The room was almost in darkness, for only a small oil lamp, that hung

above the divan, gave a feeble light; so that, before she saw

Buonaparte, he was upon her. While she was still standing at the

window, he entered softly, and unannounced. Stealing up to her, he

wound his arm about her waist and kissed her.

She struggled with him, and he let her go. She started back, and then

stood facing him with flashing eyes and heightened color, her bosom

heaving with indignation.

"How dare you, Sir?" she cried. "So it is thus you think to gain a

woman's favor? I have heard much of the deference paid by your

countrymen to women; is this a sample of it? Oh, would that my lover

were here to avenge for me this insult!"

Buonaparte answered with a laugh, "Your lover? Ah! he is here; but not

the one you mean."

And he tapped his breast with his hand.

Halima made a step forward.

"My lover!" she cried eagerly. "What mean you? Do you bring me

intelligence of his return? If that is the reason of your coming, I

could find it in my heart to pardon you. Speak; Oh! keep me not in

suspense, but speak."

She panted in her agitation, while she hung in mingled hope and fear

upon his answer.

It came in harsh and strident tones. He was angered at the depth of her

feeling for St. Just, and it made him pitiless and heedless of the pain

his words would cause.

"Never in this world will you see St. Just again," he said. "He lies

buried in the desert, slain by your father's orders."

At this dreadful news, so suddenly and cruelly imparted, his hearer

swayed as though she would have fallen; but, with an effort, she so far

controlled herself as to stagger to a divan, on which she dropped.

"It is not true, it cannot be true," she cried; "you are deceiving me

for your own ends. Why should my father slay him? No, I believe you

not."

Buonaparte took no notice of her words. He merely stepped to the open

window and called out, "Roustan, bring up the prisoners."

The Arab girl sprang to her feet and advanced to him. "Prisoners?" she

asked wonderingly. "Who are they? Why are they here?"

"You say you disbelieve me. They bring you proof of what I have just

told you."

Even while he spoke the tramp of men could be heard outside, and, in

another moment, Roustan entered with the three Arab soldiers and their

guards.

Buonaparte cross-examined them in Halima's presence, and she herself put

such questions to them as she chose. They told her of the capture of St.

Just by members of her father's tribe and all that had followed, to his

final fall from the rock. They were so evidently the witnesses of truth

that Halima could not fail to be convinced that St. Just was dead.

She waved her hand to them as a signal that they were to go, and

Buonaparte dismissed them.

Then the tears, that her excitement had kept back, poured forth. The

girl staggered to the divan and, burying her head in its cushions, wept

long and passionately.

As on a similar occasion, Buonaparte sought not to check her tears, but

sat near, waiting patiently till her grief should spend itself.

Meanwhile he fingered mechanically St. Just's charm, which he had taken

from Yusuf, and meant to give to Halima.

At last the force of her weeping died away, and she raised her

tear-stained face to his, a look of piteous entreaty on it.

At a loss for words of consolation, Buonaparte handed her the jewel.

"It was St. Just's," he said. "Now you have a right to it."

She reached out her hand and took it. At the same time, Buonaparte

seated himself upon the divan and drew her to him. Then he kissed her,

while he whispered tenderly in her ear, "I love you, Halima, I love you.

My Queen, my heart's desire, tell me you love me too."

But she had St. Just's death too freshly in her mind. She shook her head

sadly. "No, no," she murmured; "not to-night. Perhaps, to-morrow I

will tell you."

Now Buonaparte, always imperious, could and would brook no resistance.

For reply, he crushed her to himself. Violent was his embrace and

masterful his manner. And, she, in her inmost heart already yielding,

made but a faint resistance. And, at that moment, the light above the

divan flickered out and darkness fell upon the scene.

*CHAPTER XII.*

To return to St. Just who, when last seen, was lying unconscious in the

tent of the Arab Sheik; the fever that had robbed him of his senses soon

spent its force, and, with a lowering of his temperature, he returned to

consciousness. Accustomed to the hardships of a campaign in the field,

and with some experience of wounds, and by no means impatient or given

to complaining, he could not but chafe at his slow progress towards

recovery. He seemed to gain no strength. No doubt this was due in

great measure to his want of European comforts, medical attendance, and

the diet suitable to an invalid.

When, at last, he was able to get about again, which, was not till

December had ended and a new year had dawned, he found, somewhat to his

surprise, that the sheik, if harsh, was just in all his dealings. One

night he and the sheik were sitting over the camp fire under the shadow

of the very rock which had been the scene of St. Just's narrow escape

from death, when the sheik spoke concerning that adventure.

"If I had wished to kill you, I could easily have done so. You must not

suppose that my men are, as a rule, the bad marksmen they proved

themselves on that occasion. If you had been killed, I had avenged the

affront your General had put upon me, and, indirectly, upon the tribe,

by trying to bribe me to become his ally. If you survived the shots,

you could carry my answer, and, possibly, save the life of one of my own

tribe, whom your General might slay for being the bearer of unpalatable

news. That you would be hit fatally I expected; and how Mahmoud, who,

though but eighteen, is a good marksman, came to miss, I know not,

though he only failed by chance.

"Chance, did I say? Nay, my son," and here the old man laid his hand

softly upon his listener's shoulder; "It was fate. Allah has willed

that you should live for greater things. Therefore give praise to him."

Towards the end of January the whole camp, including St. Just, who was

mounted on a camel and closely guarded, made a move, traveling

northwards towards Cairo. After journeying for about a month, a halt

was made at a group of stone tombs, said to be--in common with so many

burial places in Egypt whose records are lost--the tombs of Kings.

During their stay at this oasis of the tombs, St. Just began to pick up

health and strength. Here, too, he improved his acquaintance with the

old sheik, and the more he learned of him the better he liked him.

Strange to say, too, the boy Mahmoud, he who had fired the last shot at

him on the rock, began to make friendly advances towards him, and

expressed a wish to wait on him. At first St. Just was suspicious of

his motives, and watched him carefully. But, in the end, he satisfied

himself that the lad had really become attached to him; so, with the

Sheik's permission, he accepted his services, and, as the result, found

that he could have engaged no truer or more faithful servant.

The monotony of St. Just's life at this time made him dwell with

tenderness and regret on the memory of the busy time he had passed at

Cairo, and, in particular, of the beautiful half-bred Arab girl with

whom he had been so much thrown.

He knew that his love for her was no transient passion, but the abiding

affection of a life-time; absence, in his case, so far from inducing

forgetfulness, had made the heart grow fonder. With her, his life would

be rose-colored, like the desert sand around him when the sun's rays

were poured upon it; without her, like the same desert at night before

the moonbeams had illumined it, cold and gray and gloomy.

Inwardly chafing at the enforced helplessness that kept him from his

love, and wondering whether they were ever again to meet, he was much

surprised and no less delighted when the sheik one day told him that, in

the middle of March, he was to set out for Cairo with his, the sheik's,

reply to Buonaparte's letter; and, further, that he would be furnished

with an escort of twenty men for his protection. It now wanted about

three weeks to the time.

One day, when it wanted but four to the time when he was to set out, he

was aroused from his slumbers, while dawn yet struggled with the

darkness, by the sheik himself, who bade him get up quickly and dress

quickly.

"Before the camp wakes to life we must be on our way," he told St. Just;

but whither they were bound he gave no intimation.

Through the sleeping camp they made their way and, shaping their course

north by east, they rode out into the great silent desert, being joined

by a small escort, on reaching the outskirts of the camp. For many

miles the sheik and St. Just rode on side by side without exchanging a

word.

At last the old man spoke, taking advantage of an opportunity, when

those who accompanied them had fallen behind, possibly in obedience to

his orders.

"Doubtless, my son," began the sheik, "you have wondered why I, your

enemy, have kept you by my side so long, when you were able to return to

him from whom you came two months ago. It was for this; I wished to

satisfy myself that your character is what it has been represented to

me. You know that I am a man of power and that, daily, messengers come

from other chiefs to me for my advice and help. From enquiries of these

men I have learned much of you from the moment you set foot in

Alexandria."

After pausing to note the effect of his harangue, the sheik went on,

"Scarce an action or a word of yours--uttered even in your sleep--has

escaped me. If from the moment of your ordeal on the rock, until

to-day, you have failed to please me, then would your stay in camp have

been cut short. But, not only have you pleased me, but I have grown to

regard you as a son."

After some hours traveling, they halted on the margin of a broad sheet

of water fringed around with grass and low shrubs, with here and there a

date palm. In the middle of this pool rose a cone-shaped rock graven

with hieroglyphics. Selecting a place that was sheltered from the sun's

heat by a pile of rocks, the whole party dismounted, the escort, who

numbered a dozen, and were all, save St. Just's own lad Mahmoud, elderly

men, casting themselves down upon the grass to rest.

After giving some directions to the leader of the party and asking St.

Just to await his return, the Sheik remounted and set out alone, and

soon was lost to sight, putting up in his progress thousands of birds

that had made this their haunt and lived here undisturbed from the

moment they had left the egg. Now they rose in flocks, just in advance

of the Sheik, swirling above him and uttering cries of mingled wonder

and alarm.

After an interval the old warrior came galloping back, with as firm a

seat upon his fiery steed as if he were but a youth of twenty, instead

of being fully four score years.

The old man called out something St. Just could not catch, and,

instantly, two of the men sprang up and drew their swords. He, too,

rose to his feet, but was pulled back by Mahmoud, whose voice said in

his ear:

"Fear not, they go but to cut wood."

Meanwhile the old Sheik dismounted, and the rest busied themselves in

spreading a meal under the shadow of the rock.

Presently the two woodsmen returned bearing a large bundle of lengths of

fibrous wood. These were distributed among the party, each piece being

about two feet long, and two inches thick. In addition to the bundle of

sticks, one of the two men carried a pole two inches in diameter and

about ten feet long.

This he handed to the old Sheik, who, mounting his horse, once more rode

away, leaving St. Just and his followers standing under the rocks.

While St. Just was absently gazing across the lake and wondering what

was going on, he saw the old Sheik on the bank stop and plant his pole

in the water close to the bank, and in a line with the pillar. Then to

his amazement, he saw the pillar topple and fall with a terrific splash

into the lake, whose waters instantly closed over it, the only signs

that it had ever stood there being the bubbles that rose to the surface

as the mass of stone sank deeper and deeper towards the bottom.

Then the old Sheik returned and, drawing St. Just apart, took from his

garment the miniature of the fair Halima which had but lately hung

around St. Just's neck and had received the bullet aimed at him and thus

saved his life.

"My son," he said, "I take it that the wish of your heart is to possess

the woman whose picture I now hold. On the faith of this, I am about to

tell you many things. But, before you hear them, you must swear by that

which you rate above all other things that you will obey and be faithful

to the commands that I shall give you."

And St. Just, because of his great love for Halima, blindly swore to do

that which the Sheik should bid him.

Then the old man went on.

"Twelve hundred and fifty years after the coming of the Messiah to

Jerusalem, one of my forefathers ruled in Egypt. Now the visitation of

Christ gave rise to the prophecy that when a white man, a soldier,

should come to us, Egypt would again be free. Now I, who am the last of

the true princes of the land, believe you to be the man foretold, and it

is for the furthering of my plans that I have brought you here. On the

spot on which we stand, buried far beneath us, lies a city that was

formerly one of the chief cities of the gods. Here their worship

lingered for many years after the introduction of Christianity; then it

vanished. In those troublous days my ancestor buried in the lake, which

aforetime stretched even to the Nile, a vast treasure, marking the spot

with the stone pillar upon which he had engraved his title--that pillar

that was here but now. Now, the times in which he lived were so fraught

with danger, that he entrusted the secret to but one person, with

injunctions that it should be passed on at the death of one of the two

who knew it, and so on for generations. Thus it came to me. The only

other person who knew it died lately, so I tell it you. You will wonder

at my destroying the pillar that marked the treasure's spot, but it had

to be. Else it might have guided some marauder.

"Owing to some cause I am unable to explain and, it follows, unable to

remove, the lake is falling foot by foot, and, in a few weeks, it will

have dried up and become a portion of the desert, and the rocking pillar

will soon be buried fathoms deep in sand. But enough of this for the

present."

By this time the sun was getting low in the heavens, and the hour for

the afternoon meal had come. When this was over, the old Sheik gave

orders for the men to resume the staves, that had been distributed as

torches, and to follow him.

Then, accompanied by St. Just, they plunged in single file into the

jungle of foliage that grew around the rock, and was so tangled and

interlaced that progress was very difficult, and no one who did not know

of the path they followed could have found it. In about an hour, at the

cost of numerous tears and scratches, they emerged on a small clearing,

in which was a mound of sand, with a slab of stone before it. Two of

the strongest men were ordered to roll away this stone; and, this done,

an opening about two feet square was seen.

Then, at a few words from the Sheik, each man went down upon his hands

and knees, and, one by one, they crawled through the hole and in utter

darkness began to traverse a passage that led from it.

They had proceeded but a few yards, when, all at once, the man

immediately in front of St. Just called out in Arabic "Take care." In a

moment, the young Frenchman felt himself gliding down a slope. He

clutched at the bare earth with his hands, one of which held his

unlighted torch, and managed, with an occasional slip and scratch and

scramble and bump, so far to check his progress that, when he presently

dropped two or three feet on to level ground, he was not much hurt.

When he looked about him, he saw that those of the party who were in

advance of him were occupied in lighting their torches. He lighted his

from one of theirs. One after another the remainder of the party

scrambled down; when all the torches had been lighted, St. Just found

that they were in a square hall, hewn out of the solid rock, the sides

of which were sculptured in the Assyrian and Egyptian style.

It was but a passing glance that he could give, for, so soon as the

whole party was assembled and the torches had been lighted, the word was

given to move forward. They traversed the rocky road for upwards of two

miles, now leaping over fallen boulders, now climbing great blocks of

masonry, till, at last, they halted before a wondrous sight.

For the last quarter of a mile--so far as St. Just could judge, they had

been going down an easy incline, and their course had been free from

obstacles. Another thing he noticed and could not account for was that,

as they neared their present halting place, the way in front of them

became gradually lighter until finally their torches were no longer

needed. By the time they had come to a stand-still, the source of this

light was no longer a mystery. Opposite to them at a distance that was

difficult to calculate in their present environment, but quite near

enough for them to feel its heat, was a vast crater, that was belching

out flames and steam and streams of boiling lava. The whole of the

space between this volcano and St. Just and his companions was occupied

by a city in ruins, that lay in a basin about three hundred feet below

the watchers, who were standing on a platform to which the passage they

had just traversed led. The light from the crater and the molten lava

that was being spouted from it and was streaming down upon the

subterranean city, enabled them to distinguish what remained of the

buildings; but was not sufficiently diffused to show the sides or roof

of the enormous cavern in which they were, so that it was impossible to

estimate its size.

Transfixed with astonishment, St. Just watched the stream of melted lava

vomited forth from the glowing chasm and rush along in a fiery channel,

crackling and hissing and bubbling into a sort of caldron, whence it

spread out into a sheet and poured down upon the deserted city, sending

up a noisome vapor that no living creature could breathe for long. The

whole scene was enough to strike terror into the boldest heart, and St.

Just, courageous as he was, felt his own quake and his legs beneath him

tremble.

Presently the old Sheik touched him and called his attention to an

obelisk that was reared on the platform on which they stood.

It was covered with inscriptions, almost undecipherable through age.

But the old Sheik interpreted them to St. Just as follows:

"In the sixth year of the founding of this city (this would mean about

2600 B.C.) was this built for the river and for the traders thereon;

wherein is it possible to shelter our ships. And in this same year was

the road from the City to the Ancient tomb by the Nile Bank finished in

a manner worthy of those who built this city. This monument has been

erected as a memorial of the same."

"There," said the Sheik, "this was their greatness, now listen to their

end."

He pointed to an inscription of six lines cut roughly upon the wall of

the rocky platform on which they were, and read:

"Woe is come upon us, Woe. The plague is on us--the black plague. Our

trade is at an end; our King has fled; our women and children lie dead

in the streets; for the gods have forsaken us. The mountain is on fire

and the river has receded, and in its place have I walked dry shod. I

have placed the King's treasures in a safe place, and I go to tell him

that the Captain of his guard, Hathi, is faithful."

Lower down was written:

"Alas, I am too late, I die, I die. The treasure is in the temple."

Thus abruptly ended these records of man in his magnificence and in his

woe.

"Where is the temple?" inquired St. Just.

"There," said the Sheik, pointing to a passage on their right. "We go

to it now."

The Sheik led the way, and, after traversing the passage, they entered a

vast, ruined marble hall.

"The treasure is here?" asked St. Just.

"Nay," replied the Sheik, "for this is but the outer court."

"Is the fire always issuing from that crater?" inquired St. Just when

they had retraced their steps to their companions. "And will it take

long to destroy what remains of the city?"

"Years, at the rate it goes on now; for it is not always burning

actively; sometimes for long periods it only smoulders. But, possibly,

only hours, should there be a great increase in the outpour of the

lava."

"And, if the lake above fell in on top?" suggested St. Just laughing.

"Seconds; there would be such an explosion as the world has never yet

seen."

Their torches, which they had extinguished when they had been no longer

needed, were now relighted, and they made their way back as rapidly as

possible, musing in silence on all that they had seen.

The dawn of another day was breaking when they emerged on the spot from

which they had started on the subterranean journey; and at once they

started for the camp.

Three days later, St. Just left for Cairo, resolved first to marry

Halima, and then, to gain possession of the treasure and return to

France at the first opportunity. He had made some rough plans of the

place, unknown to the Sheik, and these he took with him when he set out

for Cairo.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

It was on the fifth of March that St. Just started on his return journey

to Cairo, accompanied by an escort of twenty of the old Sheik's

followers and the lad Mahmoud, to whom, on account of his alertness and

fidelity, he had become much attached. He was the bearer of a letter

written in Arabic, from the Sheik to Buonaparte, its purport being that

the wily Ibrahim, while declining to give any active assistance to the

French Commander-in-chief, agreed, on the other hand, not forcibly to

oppose him.

The Sheik also gave him letters of introduction to other sheiks in and

on the way to Cairo, commending him to their protection and urging them

to do all they could to forward him on his way.

In order to avoid the hardships of the desert, it had been decided that,

so far as was possible, St. Just's route should be by the river; boats

to make the journey in stages, it was believed, could be obtained from

the various sheiks on the way. With this view, the party took no

horses, but set out mounted on camels. The gray stallion, that St. Just

had captured from the Arabs when he had slain its rider, and that had

served him so faithfully during his wanderings in the desert, he

presented as a parting gift to Halima's father. It was the only thing

in his possession, and was but a slight return for all the old sheik had

done for him from the time he had made a target of him for his

followers. And Ibrahim had done much; had nursed him back to life,

supplied him with money for his homeward journey, furnished him with

letters of commendation to powerful sheiks he would fall in with by the

way, given him a guard for his protection, accorded him his friendship,

and, to crown all, was desirous of receiving him as his son-in-law.

And St. Just rightly appreciated the old man's kindness; he thanked him

again and again at parting, and promised to return with Halima at the

earliest possible moment. And the Sheik himself, with all his Arab

undemonstrativeness, seemed much affected while he wrung the young man's

hand, when the moment for the cavalcade to start had come.

"Farewell, my son," he said; "may Allah have you in his keeping, and

bring you back here safe and sound, and, with you, the light of my old

eyes, my daughter. I charge you watch over her and protect her from all

danger. Keep your tryst with me, and I will keep faith with you and

will give my child to you, and you shall be my son indeed. For I am

old, and 'tis time she had some one to protect her, other than myself.

And now, speed you all you can. Once more, farewell."

"Trust me," was St. Just's sole reply; then the party started.

Two days' traveling by easy stages brought them to the river bank at a

point that marked the eastern boundary of the district occupied by

Ibrahim's tribe. Here they were furnished with a boat sufficiently

capacious to contain them all, as well as the men who were to take her

back.

It was weary work this traveling down the Nile, for, though St. Just was

in the company of others, he was practically alone; he could understand

but little of the dialect of those who were about him, and what

interested them, in no way appealed to him. Besides, they seemed to

regard him with a certain degree of distrust, that, in some of them,

amounted to dislike, which they took small pains to hide. This was only

natural, for the uniform St. Just wore was a constant reminder that he

was of the nationality of the invaders of their country. They

endeavored to thwart and mislead him in every way, and, had it not been

for information that Mahmoud gave him privately, his progress would have

been slower even than it was. Arrangements could be made for boats or

rafts, only for stated distances; and at the end of each of such stages

there was renewed bargaining and haggling with a fresh set of people,

St. Just's own followers doing their best privately with the proprietors

to persuade them not to take them on. They were desirous of returning

to the encampment of the tribe, and hoped, by raising so many

difficulties to their progress, to wear out St. Just's persistence and

cause him to forego his purpose. It was a pity they did not know all

that was in his mind; for, had they done so, they would have realized

the hopelessness of achieving what they had in view, and would have done

all they could to advance, instead of to retard, him. Where he fell in

with sheiks located on the margin of the river, to whom Ibrahim had

given him letters, bargaining for boats was easy; but it so happened

that most of the dwellers by the river were strangers.

Thus, from one cause and another, their progress was very slow. Then,

something occurred that completely stopped it for a time; St. Just fell

ill. He took a severe cold which he was unable to shake off. He

struggled manfully with his increasing weakness, but in vain; ague set

in, and he felt that he was in for a serious illness. He called the

faithful Mahmoud and inquired of him whether any of the sheiks to whom

he had letters were within reasonable distance. Fortunately for him,

there was one encamped but a few miles away. So St. Just decided to

land at once and make for this sheik's quarters. When he reached them,

he had but time to deliver his credentials, when he fell down in a

fainting fit. He was thoroughly exhausted.

For weeks he knew nothing. All the time, the trusty Mahmoud tended him

assiduously, and, but for him, St. Just would never have recovered. The

Sheik, too, who had a great respect for the more powerful Ibrahim, did

all he could for him. At last, so weak that he could not raise his

head, the young officer awoke to consciousness. Soon he began to pick up

strength, and, a month afterwards, he felt himself sufficiently

recovered to proceed. So he once more embarked upon the river and the

weary round was recommenced; and, on the 9th of August, St. Just made

his final landing on the river bank at a point near a village distant

only a few hours' journey from Cairo, and within the sphere of French

authority.

Here he dismissed the men who had formed his escort, retaining only the

youth Mahmoud, with whom he made his way to a hut close by, where dwelt

a man who had some camels. It was at this hut that the young officer

caught a glimpse of himself for the first time for many months; for,

hanging up against the wall, was a piece of looking-glass about four

inches square, an article, it seemed, on which the owner set much store.