In due course, all the boxes were transported to the bottom of the

slope. While this work had been in progress, St. Just had not been

idle. They had provided themselves with a good supply of rope, and,

with this, he had slings knotted together, in which the boxes could be

slipped readily and hauled up the incline. Thus there was no loss of

time, and, when all the treasure had been stacked hard by the shoot, the

work of haulage was begun. Four men, by St. Just's direction, scrambled

up, taking the end of a strong rope with them. Then the boxes one by

one, were hitched to the middle of the cable and drawn up, the latter

being pulled back, after each box had been released, by the end that

remained with those below. When the boxes should have been all dragged

up the slope, the rest would be comparatively easy, for the further

route to the open air was both short and almost level, rising so

gradually as to present no difficulties. Before this was begun,

however, all the treasure was to be collected at the upper end of the

shoot. St. Just believed in doing work by stages.

He waited long enough to see that his plan was working smoothly, and

then, leaving one of the oldest and most respected of the tribe in

charge, he and Halima, accompanied by the faithful Mahmoud, made their

way back to the temple, to take a last look round. Unless the jewels

were packed up with the gold, they had not yet been found, and St. Just

was resolved to make a further search for them, free from the eyes of

witnesses. As for Mahmoud, his master knew that he was to be trusted to

keep inviolate any secret.

When they had again traversed the pathway to the left and had gained the

open space before the temple, St. Just, happening to turn his head round

to the right, his attention was attracted to the crater of the volcano.

Only light smoke had been proceeding from it on their arrival; now

sparks were mingled with it, and an occasional tongue of fire shot up;

the smoke, too, had become denser and was tinged with red. Also low

rumblings could be heard.

"The crater is more active than when we first came," he said. "See

those showers of red hot cinders; and can you hear those sounds like

distant thunder?"

"Yes, is it not grand?" said Halima. "It is like a huge fountain of

golden rain and hail. I can hear the roar too; what force must be

embowelled there to cause it; it sounds like fifty blacksmiths' fires

all blowing at once. It certainly was not like this before. Think you

we are in any danger?"

"I trust not; I think we are too far away. But we will lose no time.

Come, Mahmoud, go before us with your torch."

They made their way once more into the temple, and began their search,

Halima and St. Just going along by the wall on one side of the building,

and Mahmoud taking the other. When they had reached the end, they

retraced their steps, taking a course a little further from the walls,

and so on, backwards and forwards, and thus gradually approaching the

center, having left no portion of the flooring uncovered by their

torches, and all the while peering carefully around.

In due course, they met in the center of the building by the huge

statue; so far their search had been absolutely fruitless. They gazed

in one another's faces somewhat blankly. Then St. Just looked up at the

impassive figure.

"Unless that venerable gentleman holds the secret," he said, addressing

Halima, "and is prepared to share it with us, I fear we shall have to

return, as empty-handed as we came. I will improve my acquaintance with

him."

He ran nimbly up the steps and carefully examined the pedestal on which

the statue rested. It seemed to be a solid block of stone; certainly

the front portion of it was, for, on his kicking it, it gave forth no

hollow sound, and no lines were visible on its exterior. He moved round

one corner and along the side, minutely inspecting as he went. About

three inches from the end there was a vertical line or crack about a

foot in length that reached the bottom of the pedestal, and at its upper

end terminated in another line at right angles to it, that extended to

the corner. He went round to the back and followed this horizontal line

for eighteen inches, when, as he had hoped, it was joined by another

vertical line, that, like the first, ran down to the pedestal's base.

It was a slab of stone, in fact, eighteen inches by twelve, three inches

thick. On being struck, it sounded hollow.

"There is a cavity," he cried. "Mahmoud, come here."

Mahmoud ran up the steps, and then St. Just told him to insert his

dagger into the lower part of the interstice, whilst he himself took the

same course with the upper. When both daggers had got fair hold, the

two men prized carefully together, and the stone began to move. Soon

they could get their fingers into the opening; then, exerting all their

force, they wrenched the slab away and it fell down the steps with a

crash that reverberated through the temple, and startled Halima.

"Oh!" she cried unconsciously. Then, "Have you found anything?"

"I shall know presently," St. Just called back.

The stone removed, a cavity was revealed, and in this lay a small square

box, apparently of silver, but so dull and tarnished that it was

difficult to determine. St. Just seized it, and, in two strides, was at

the bottom of the steps.

"I think I've found them," he cried; "see." And he held out the box.

Halima took it. "This is for Buonaparte," she said exultantly. "By the

help of these I shall achieve my end. Was there anything more where you

found this?"

"Nothing whatever. Now let us go; we have been too long already."

"Here, Mahmoud," said Halima; "carry this for me, and see that you lose

it not, as you prize your life. And, further, say not a word concerning

it to any one."

"Mahmoud is faithful," the boy replied reproachfully, taking the box

from her. He placed it inside his loose garment, next his breast.

"Come, let us join the others,"' said St. Just, "and see what progress

they have made."

The words had hardly left his lips when a deep, rumbling sound was

heard. It grew louder and louder; there was a resounding blow, and

then, with a crash, a large portion of the left wall of the temple fell

in, and a volume of water poured in after it.

"Merciful Heavens!" cried Halima, "what has happened?"

"The lake overhead must have burst in," exclaimed St. Just. "We must

fly; follow me."

And he made for the upper end of the temple, towards the right hand

corner, keeping close to Halima's side and suiting his pace to hers. It

would have been useless to attempt to gain the entrance, for the

flooring of the temple inclined that way, and all the water was flowing

towards it; and, such were its force and volume, that it would have

swept them off their feet and carried them over the roadway into the

abyss in which stood the ruined city.

They rushed on side by side, without uttering a word. Mahmoud, who had

been behind them at the start, soon overtook and headed them.

"Follow me," he cried, in passing; "I know." And he made direct for the

far right hand corner, on reaching which, he halted and waited for the

others. Now, in the search they had just been making, Mahmoud had taken

the right hand side, and he had noticed a narrow doorway at the extreme

end. This might afford the means of their escape.

St. Just and Halima came up panting, and the boy pointed out this

opening to them. Before examining it, St. Just paused to look around,

so far as the light from their torches would permit. The result

somewhat reassured him, for, where they were, the floor was dry, and, if

the water at all gained on them, its progress was very slow, the great

mass of it rushing towards the entrance, where it found an exit. His

chief fear was that the latter might not be wide enough, and that the

end wall might not be able to withstand the pressure. In such a case

the whole temple might come down and, if not crushed to death, they

would be entombed alive. On the other hand, should the end wall stand,

he hoped that, when the lake should have run dry, they could make their

escape by the temple entrance.

"We are safe for the moment," he said. And he put his arm round Halima

and drew her to him and kissed her fondly. "My poor darling, how you

tremble. Courage, keep up your heart; we shall yet escape."

She clung to him frantically, sobbing and panting for breath.

"Oh! I am so frightened," she gasped; "to have to die so young, and in

such a place. Oh! I wish I had not come."

He was too generous to reproach her for not having taken his advice.

"We shall not die, sweetheart," he made answer reassuringly. "Calm

yourself; we shall need all our wits. See, the water does not come our

way; it all flows out at the other end; when it has subsided, we shall

be able to leave the temple. Meanwhile, let us examine this opening in

the wall, and see what lies beyond."

His words gave his wife confidence, and gradually she grew calm. He

advanced to the opening and, holding his torch well in front of him, he

peered about.

"There is a passage," he said, "that leads somewhere; let us explore it

while we wait; who knows? we may find further treasure."

So all three entered, and made their way along it; it was about four

feet wide and seven high, stone cased and arched--a tunnel in fact--and

it inclined gradually upwards.

They had proceeded not more than twenty yards when they were startled by

a long rolling crash behind them, that brought them to a standstill.

"Oh! what is that?" cried Halima. "Something very heavy has fallen."

An awful fear crept over St. Just; he guessed just what had happened,

but durst not give utterance to his thoughts.

"I will go back and see," he said; "wait here for me."

"Not for worlds," said Halima. "I will not be left for a moment. I

will go with you."

So all three retraced their steps together. St. Just's fears were soon

confirmed; the entrance to the passage was completely blocked by debris

of stone and mortar.

"My God!" he exclaimed, "the whole temple has come down. If we had not

sheltered in this passage, we should have been buried in the ruins."

"Better that than to be buried alive," said Halima; "we are hopelessly

entrapped; doomed to die of slow starvation."

"God grant us a better fate! This passage must lead somewhere; it

rises, and, most likely, will take us above ground. There is no cause

for despair. Come."

For his wife's sake, he affected a cheerfulness he was far from feeling,

and her spirits rose proportionately.

"I will be brave," she answered, "May Allah save us!"

They turned their backs upon the ruined temple and hurried along the

passage, Mahmoud in advance. When they had traversed about three

hundred yards, gradually ascending all the while, the passage ended, and

they emerged at a point where three roads met. The center one led down

hill to the ruined city, for, now that they had left the tunnel, the

light from the volcano was sufficient for them to discern it. It was

useless, therefore, taking this; the choice lay between the other two,

to the right and the left respectively; which were they to follow?

Halima gave her decision.

"We'll try the right," she said; "it saved us once, it may again. We

will follow our luck."

There seemed some sense in what she said, so St. Just resolved to act

upon it. Additionally, so far as he could mentally take bearings, the

direction indicated was that in which lay the camp.

"Agreed," he said; "we can but try the other, should this fail to bring

us out. Mahmoud, to the right; go on in front, and keep a good look

out."

But now that they had left the tunnel, they found the traveling much

harder, for the road was rough and strewn with obstacles--great blocks

of stone they had to skirt, and smaller ones embedded in the lava, with

which the whole way was covered, so that hardly a step could be taken on

the level, and they constantly stumbled, and sometimes found themselves

full length upon the ground. Occasionally, their path was completely

barricaded by a pile of debris, over which they had to scramble as best

they could. Spite of all her husband's care, Halima received several

serious bruises, her feet especially smarting and aching, so that she

could scarce refrain from moaning; for all that, she made no sound, but

struggled bravely on.

They were really traversing the upper portion of the ruined city, for

they found themselves passing through the courtyards of deserted houses

and by the ends of still standing inner walls, on which St. Just

noticed, with a curious sense of half awakened interest, wonderfully

executed frescoes of battle scenes, and others. In different

circumstances he would have stayed his steps to admire and wonder, for

in some cases the pictures were in no way marred, and the colors so

fresh that they might have been laid on the day before. But their peril

was too great to leave room for admiration of passing objects; so they

hurried stumbling on.

Suddenly they found their progress barred; a huge wall of rock loomed

high before them; the road went no further; unless there should be a way

round this new obstacle, they would have to retrace their steps and try

the other road. Seating Halima on a fallen stone--she was now too tired

to object to being left while the others searched about--St. Just made

his way in one direction along the face of rock, and sent Mahmoud in the

other, to see whether a passage could be found.

Presently the boy cried out, "Way here, Master." And almost

immediately, St. Just was at his side. An opening had been cut within

the rock, and thence, leading downwards was a flight of steps; but the

treads were so slippery and uneven from their lava coating, that to

descend them would be perilous, though, St. Just thought, possible with

care. Should they slip, they might slide down into an almost fathomless

abyss. For all that, he resolved to try it; indeed there seemed to be

no alternative.

And now something else both puzzled and alarmed him; the air was

perceptibly warmer than when they had left the temple, and every moment

it grew hotter; he feared the volcano's energy was increasing. Had they

escaped entombment in the temple, only to be burnt to death? The

thought was maddening; he said nothing of it to his companion, and

together they rejoined Halima. He told her of their discovery, and they

lost no time in beginning their descent. It was performed in this wise.

St. Just seated himself on the top step and then gradually worked

himself, with his hands and feet, on to the next; Halima followed behind

him in the same position, and Mahmoud came last, propelling himself in

like fashion. Thus, in case Halima should slip, her motion would be

checked by her husband's body.

Save for a few slight cuts and bruises, they reached the bottom of the

flight of steps in safety--there were eighteen in all--and found

themselves in a road that crossed the point at which the steps gave on

it. This time they chose the left, and traveled on. The air was almost

stifling and choked with dust, so that they had difficulty in breathing;

but still they dragged on their weary steps in silence, Halima now

leaning on her husband's arm.

After proceeding thus for half an hour, the air ever getting hotter, and

at the same time lighter, they reached an open space; and here they

paused to look about them. Their torches were now of little use; the

flames from the volcano lighted up the scene all round. Close on their

left was a huge ruined building, that St. Just decided had been the

palace of some great one. To the right, at what, in the half-smothered

glare, seemed a considerable distance, the crater was belching out

flames and smoke and red hot cinders, accompanied by cracklings and

roarings and rumblings that were terrible to hear; whilst broad streams

of white-hot, boiling lava were pouring down on the ruined city away in

front, below them, where they lay like sheets of liquid fire; and, with

it all, were sulphurous fumes, whose stench was sickening, that caused

their eyes and throats to smart and made respiration painful.

Hope almost died within them; in such an atmosphere life could not long

hold out.

"Our only chance lies in this large building," said St. Just. "The

volcano bars our progress towards the right; the burning city in the

front; unless we can find a way out through the building, we are

hopelessly cut off."

To penetrate it was easy, for the walls were full of gaps, and they soon

found themselves in a large courtyard; this was clear of obstacles and

quickly crossed. As good luck would have it, an open gate-way faced

them; passing through, they gained a road that rose gradually as far as

they could see--evidently the main approach to the building.

Once more their hope revived, and, though faint, their strength all but

exhausted, they crawled along this road. It was bordered by banks and

rocks; no houses lined its sides; plainly it was a thoroughfare cut in

the mountain's face or side, and leading to and from the city. Higher

and higher they ascended; and now, for the first time, they could feel a

cooler air blowing in their faces; it was but a breath, but it was

there, and it added to their hope; this was no sulphur-laden blast--that

was now behind them--but an earth-borne breeze.

"We are on the right track; we shall yet escape," cried St. Just, and

there was a note almost of exultation in his voice. When one has been

within the very jaws of death, even a short respite revives the fainting

heart.

Suddenly Halima reeled against him and would have fallen, had he not

supported her.

"I can go no farther," she gasped faintly. "Leave me here, Henri, and

save yourselves, you and the boy."

"Never," he answered resolutely. "Why, sweetheart, we are saved.

Before long, we shall see the sky; we are breathing pure air now."

"It is too late; I am so worn out that I have no life left in me. I

care not to live, I am so weary--only to die in peace."

"You shall rest awhile; you may do it safely now; in fact a rest will be

of service to us all."

He laid her gently down, and, almost in a moment, she had fallen asleep.

Meanwhile St. Just and Mahmoud sat and watched. Sleep would have been

everything to them also, but they durst not yield to it. How much

further should they have to go, St. Just wondered wearily, before they

would be free. He had now every confidence that they would escape,

provided that their strength held out; but would it? That depended on

the distance they had still to go; and there was Halima.

He let her sleep for about an hour, and then he roused her.

"Oh! let me be," she cried. "I am too weak to move, I was happy; it was

cruel of you to disturb me."

"Dearest," he said, "it had to be; but I and Mahmoud will carry you

while we can."

They took her up between them and staggered on. Their progress was now

slow indeed, and they had to make frequent stoppages to rest. Oh! for a

drink of water to moisten their parched tongues and throats! Still

onward and upward they stumbled with their almost unconscious burden.

They reached the limit of the road and were there faced by an arched

gateway cut in the solid rock. It had been guarded by a pair of bronze

gates, one of which still hung on its hinges; the other lay prone before

them. The gateway gave on to a tunnel, whose length they could not

ascertain, for no light showed through it; it was black as night. They

would have to relight their torches; so far, the crater's glare had

served them. They put down Halima, and St. Just got out a tinder box

and the torches were rekindled. He turned to Halima.

"Can you walk a little, do you think?" he asked. "It will be difficult

to carry you with torches in our hand."

He could scarce speak, and felt that to carry her at that moment was

beyond him.

"I will try," she said, "if you will each give me an arm."

And thus they crawled along, the tunnel echoing to their footsteps. No

one spoke; they were past that. Their road was easier now, for it was

on the level; but what they gained in that, was balanced by their

failing strength. It bore slightly to the right and seemed

interminable, but it was really not a quarter of the length it appeared

to them. It was only that they were so worn out. On they staggered,

swaying this way and that, and sometimes almost falling, each feeling

that, if their journey should not soon end, they must die of sheer

exhaustion.

St. Just felt Halima totter. "Bear up," he whispered--he had no

voice--"we are nearly through."

But it was useless; she heard him not, but sank fainting to the ground.

St. Just signed to Mahmoud, and they raised her and carried her a few

yards; then they put her down to rest themselves. Thus they proceeded

with many halts for a hundred yards or so. Having to carry their

torches, they had but one arm for her.

They were resting, Halima lying on the ground, when suddenly St. Just

clutched Mahmoud's arm convulsively and pointed ahead; he was too far

gone to speak.

In the far distance was a tiny point of light.

Once more they took up Halima, who was still unconscious, and resumed

their way, but now full of hope; and hope lent them strength.

Larger and larger grew the spot of light--not the lurid light from the

horrid crater, but the white light of day--so that now they could almost

see their way without their torches. Suddenly St. Just's foot struck

violently against some obstruction, and all three fell heavily to the

ground, the shock, in their then exhausted state, rendering them

unconscious.

* * * * *

Mahmoud, perhaps because he was the youngest, was the first to come to

himself. He looked around, and was surprised to find he knew the place.

It was a cave in which he had more than once sheltered from the storm.

The way out possessed no real difficulties, though it was intricate.

Casting a glance at the two prostrate figures, and assuring himself that

they still lived, he ran out of the cave; the knowledge that they were

saved, and the fresh air, had given him new strength. On he sped, and,

after a run of half a mile, he dashed, breathless and almost speechless,

into the midst of their own tribe.

"Water!" he panted.

They offered him a pitcher, and he drank till he could hold no more.

Then, in a few words, he explained what had occurred, and where St. Just

and Halima would be found. The cave was known to many of the tribe, and

a rescue party was at once made up.

Halima was some time recovering, but St. Just, except for the cuts and

bruises he had received, was soon himself again.

He told Mahmoud, they would never have been saved, but for his

assistance, and that he should remember him with gratitude and affection

to his dying day. And he did. Between the master and the servant the

tie was for the future more like that between two brothers. When they

were alone, Mahmoud handed him the silver box, which he had preserved

through all their danger.

The boxes that contained the gold were also safe, and had been

transported to the camp before St. Just's return.

*CHAPTER XXII.*

The effects of the terrible experience she had undergone were very

serious to Halima. She had been carried from the cave to the encampment

on a litter, for she had not been able to stand, still less to ride or

walk. She lay on a couch and moaned, acutely sensible to pain, yet

seemingly unconscious, so great was her prostration. She felt bruised

and sore all over, every nerve and muscle overstrained; her body was one

huge ache, her joints burned like fire, and she could scarcely have

suffered more had she been stretched out on the rack.

Thus she passed the weary night, vainly longing, oh! so earnestly, for

the sleep that would have been everything to her, but that her

sufferings would not permit; for, with the cessation of exercise, her

joints stiffened and the pain increased. In the morning she was in a

high fever, and delirious. It was nature's retaliation for the affront

that had been put upon her; for no one may insult her with impunity, and

she rebels when too much is demanded of her, as when nerves and thews

are overstrained and the brain is overwrought.

St. Just, the old nurse and Ben Kerriman, the doctor, stood gravely

watching the unconscious girl, who lay staring at them with wide open

eyes, eyes in which there was no trace of recognition; and their heart

sank within them. The old doctor's knowledge of the healing art was

superficial, and he was acquainted only with the simple herbal remedies.

These he administered, but with little faith in their efficiency; such

hope as he had, lay in the soundness and natural vigor of her

constitution, aided by her youth. He gazed upon her sorrowfully, and

shook his head doubtfully--almost despairingly. For all that, he was

unremitting in his care, and in this he was ably seconded by the old

nurse and St. Just. He was resolved that nature should have every

chance. For a week she hovered between life and death, on more than one

occasion the vital spark flickering so feebly that every moment they

thought it would die out. In a week the critical moment that would

decide her fate arrived. It passed and she was saved; her strong

constitution had gained the mastery of the fever; the temperature of her

blood was lowered; the florid color faded from her face; the pulse, that

had been rapid and irregular, became calm and measured; a slight

moisture broke out upon the hot, parched skin, and consciousness

returned. She looked up in the faces of the watchers with a feeble

smile, and her lips moved slightly, but no sound escaped them. Then she

closed her eyes and dropped off into a calm, refreshing sleep, that

lasted many hours.

When she awoke she was able to speak. From that moment she gradually

gained strength; nothing now ailed her, but extreme debility, and each

day that grew less. Ben Kerriman, in fact, was surprised at her rapid

progress towards recovery.

All this time the treasure that had almost cost their lives was kept

carefully guarded. It had been stored up in a hut, which had been then

banked round and on the top with sand, the door only being exposed. St.

Just kept the key of this, and each day he went in to count the boxes

and see that they had not been tampered with. Moreover, night and day

the hut was always watched by two men--not, of course, always the

same--in whom implicit confidence could be placed. All these

precautions were scarcely needed, for no member of the tribe would have

robbed its chief; but St. Just, realizing that he was but the bailee of

this great wealth, was resolved to run no risk.

He had deferred the examination of the silver casket, until his wife

should be restored to health, feeling that she would like to be present

at its opening; but one day, when she was thoroughly recovered and they

were alone together, and likely for some time to be undisturbed, he

brought it out. It was soon forced open, and then the sight disclosed

to view made Halima's eyes sparkle with delight, and St. Just's to beam

with satisfaction. They had expected to find precious stones, but had

never dreamed of such as these. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds,

and others whose names they did not know, all flawless, and of the

purest water; the diamonds colorless as ice, the others with tints rich

and deep. And there were no mean sized stones among them; some as large

as pigeon's eggs, others equaling the size of marbles; there were none

smaller. They were all unset and badly cut, but the size and quality

were there. Little as St. Just knew of the value of such gems, he was

satisfied that the contents of that little silver box far out-weighed in

worth the treasure stored up in the hut outside.

When the jewels had been duly inspected and admired, it was arranged

that Halima should have the charge of them, and, with a view to their

safe custody, she said she would sew them into a pad or belt, and wear

them under her clothing, until the opportunity should arrive for their

disposal.

The subject naturally brought up that of the remainder of the treasure.

Now that his anxiety on the score of his wife's health was over, St.

Just was desirous of relieving himself of his responsibility as soon as

possible. Having no immediate personal interest in the money, its

custody had become an incubus he would fain shake off. Accordingly, he

now suggested that a messenger should be at once despatched to Cairo

with a letter to the persons mentioned by the late sheik, informing them

of the existence of the gold and of the old man's wishes in regard to

it, and inquiring whether, and by what route it would be safe for him,

St. Just, to bring it.

Halima wished the matter to be put oft for a time; said the treasure was

quite safe where it was, that the country was so unsettled that its

transport would be hazardous, that the withdrawal of so many men as

would be necessary for the convoy would leave her insufficiently

protected; and advanced a number of other reasons more or less

plausible, for postponing action for the present. Summed up, they

simply meant that she wished to keep her husband with her.

He combated her objections one by one, showing that she made too much of

them; then he dwelt on his own uneasiness at having the charge of so

much wealth, and on his pledged word to the old sheik; appealing,

finally, to her filial affection and her duty to her father.

This last was his most mighty argument, and it prevailed with the result

that she agreed that a messenger should be sent to Cairo with all speed.

Now this decision was a most untoward one, as events will show. Had St.

Just at once set out with the treasure, without previously communicating

with the men in Cairo, the current of his life would have flowed in a

very different channel from that it took.

It may be remembered that when St. Just rejoined the tribe with Halima,

shortly before the old sheik's death, his wife's old nurse regarded him

with great repugnance; though why, unless it was for his nationality, he

could not understand. At first he had hoped that her undoubted love and

fidelity towards his wife, whose affection for himself the old woman

must have seen was strong and deep, would have wrought some change in

her feelings towards him--and he, on his part, albeit by no means

sympathetic towards her, had done his utmost to capture her goodwill. So

far from that, however, her aversion for him seemed daily to increase,

and, after Halima's illness, attained to such a pitch of hatred that, if

she could have slain him with impunity, she would have done so. It was

not that she indulged in any overt acts of insolence or disobedience;

but the looks of diabolical malignancy she flung at him as often as she

met his eyes, sufficiently revealed her sentiments.

And the cause was this; she, of course, had been Halima's chief

attendant in her illness, and, during her ramblings, her young mistress

had disclosed the fact of her betrayal and, in consequence, her deep

sense of injury and desire for vengeance; but with no mention of the

name of her seducer.

The nurse being unaware that Halima knew Buonaparte, thereupon jumped to

the conclusion that St. Just was the man who had robbed her former

nurseling of her virtue, having assailed her in a moment when she was

off her guard; that the intimacy once begun, Halima had been unable to

free herself from her relations with her betrayer, and had thus lapsed

to the position of his mistress, a toy he could discard when weary of

it. The statement that they were really married with Mahometan rites

the old woman regarded as a mere blind to cover Halima's dishonor. The

thought worked her into a state of rage and hatred that was

uncontrollable, and she resolved to punish the unsuspecting Frenchman,

if by any means it could be done.

The course of events now seemed to have brought about her opportunity.

The existence of the treasure was known throughout the camp, and it was

rumored that it was to be sent to Cairo. When, therefore, the old woman

heard that a messenger was to be despatched thither, she guessed what

was his errand and laid her plans accordingly. Everything seemed to

favor them, for the man selected for the mission was one of those most

devoted to the late sheik's nephew, Yusuf, and withal one who deeply

resented St. Just's position in the tribe. Naturally, St. Just was not

aware of this, or another man would have been chosen. Yusuf had always

been a favorite with the nurse; she had been present at his birth and

had seen him grow to manhood, and had looked forward to seeing him

eventually assume the headship of the tribe; thus his banishment by the

old sheik had sorely troubled her. She now saw a chance of his

reinstatement.

There were those in Cairo who would know his whereabouts. Accordingly,

she sought the messenger who was to go to Cairo and who, it happened,

was akin to her, and could be trusted not to betray her confidence, and

instructed him to seek out Yusuf, and, should he find him, to tell him

of the coming treasure; that, if he could collect a sufficient force and

keep a good look out, he would be able to intercept it, and at the same

time kill St. Just, who would be with it. That accomplished, there

would be nothing to prevent his taking the leadership of the tribe, and

making Halima his wife, should he desire it.

Should St. Just's messenger be unable to get speech of Yusuf, he was to

forward her instructions to him by some one he could trust. The old

woman was satisfied that, if Yusuf lived, he could be found, for many

knew him; he had held an important position in the tribe and had many

influential friends in Cairo.

She had no doubt that Yusuf would act upon her information, should it

arrive in time; her only fear was that it might not reach him until St.

Just should have advanced so far on his journey with the treasure, as to

preclude Yusuf from making his arrangements for attacking him. However,

that, as she piously observed, would be as Allah willed.

In due course, St. Just's messenger returned with letters from his Cairo

correspondents. They had expressed delight at hearing of the treasure,

and requested him to bring it on at once.

It was now February in the year 1800, and nothing stood in the way of

St. Just's making an immediate start. To tell the truth, he was becoming

somewhat wearied with desert life, and ready to welcome almost anything

that would vary its monotony. So he set about at once to make his

preparations. They were simple, including only a sufficiency of camels

to transport the treasure, the devising of a ready mode of securing it

on their backs, and the selection of the men to tend them; also supplies

for the men's consumption by the way. The camels would need no food,

for they would be required only to take the treasure to the river bank.

St. Just had decided to make the whole journey by the Nile. It would

take somewhat longer than by the desert route, but he preferred it as

being less tedious and much more interesting. His point of debarkation

would be a village five days' journey from Cairo; St. Just had halted

there before, and was acquainted with a sheik who was friendly to the

tribe and would, he hoped, supply him with camels for the remaining

portion of the route.

It was agreed between himself and Halima--for she held firmly to her

resolution to proceed to France--that, when he should have transacted

the business connected with the treasure, he should write to her, by the

returning party, stating where he would await her. Having regard to the

condition of the country and the risk he ran of recognition, both felt

that, at this stage, no definite fixture for their meeting could be

made.

When everything was ready and the moment of departure had arrived,

Halima, who thought she had schooled herself to the separation, broke

down altogether. She threw her arms about his neck and clung to him

with desperation, almost devouring him with kisses.

"Oh! Henri," she sobbed, "I would you were not leaving me, my husband.

Oh! I cannot let you go. Stay, my dear one, and let Abdallah take this

treasure; he is to be trusted and will see that it be handed over

safely. I am sure you need not go. Oh! would we had never seen this

cursed gold!"

"Nay, my Halima," he replied sadly, and he stroked the silky head that

lay against his breast; "go I must; I pledged my word to your dead

father. It is hard enough, God knows, to part from you; don't make it

harder for me by your tears. But our parting will not be for long, and,

when we meet again, it will be for life. Before six months are passed,

we shall be on our way to France."

"Ah! I know not. Once before you left me, promising to return soon;

but it was more than twelve months before my eyes again rested on you;

and, in the interval, how much had happened. They told me that you were

no more, and--but I cannot bear to think of all I went through then; I

would blot it from the pages of my life's history. And now it may be

the same again. It is not that I do not trust you, Henri, but others

may control your movements and keep you from me. Oh! I have an awful

foreboding that it will be so; that, when you shall have faded from my

sight, it will be years before my eyes will be set on you again. Oh!

stay, my husband; do not leave your Halima who loves you so. I cannot

live without you!"

"Wife," he replied, "it tears my heart to leave you, but I cannot now

draw back; I should be dishonored before all the tribe. Oh! seek not to

restrain me, for it but prolongs our sorrow, and avails nothing."

"Oh! you are cruel!" she wailed. "You love me not as I love you."

It was true there was the more fervor in her passion, but whether it

would be as enduring as her husband's was a question to be decided by

the future. It is not always the fiercest fire that burns the longest;

rather is its ardor the soonest spent.

Halima went on much in the same strain, he vainly endeavoring to soothe

her, until he could no longer bear it. So, impressing one long, fervent

kiss upon her quivering lips, he unclasped her arms from round him and

tore himself from her embrace; then handed her over to her old nurse,

who received her willingly enough, though she scowled ferociously at him

and mumbled words of menace. Then he gave the signal for departure, and

the whole party moved away.

Aided by the current and fair winds, they made good progress, and, when

a fortnight had elapsed, had performed half their journey, having

reached a point hard by the ruined city of Thebes. Up to this moment

they had not left the boat, but here was a convenient landing place, and

St. Just had a fancy for seeing something of the place. So the boat was

moored a little distance from the river bank, and a smaller one they had

on board was launched, and in it, St. Just, with Mahmoud and a few of

the men took their places and were rowed ashore. His chief follower and

the other men were given strict injunctions not to leave the larger boat

till his return, which would be on the morrow. So far their journey had

been without adventure; they had scarcely even seen a soul; only now and

then a solitary horseman had appeared about half a mile away; and then,

after looking about him, apparently with no particular object, had

galloped off.

After making a cursory inspection of the ruins, while the day-light

lasted, St. Just had a fire built up and lighted, for the night was cold

and squally, and settled down to camp out till the morning under the

shelter of a ruined wall, with Mahmoud close at hand and the others at a

little distance.

Wearied just sufficiently to make rest enjoyable, he fell into a

half-dreamy state, but still awake, and thought of Halima, picturing her

now asleep; wondering whether at that moment he occupied her dreams; and

how long it would be before they would meet again. By an easy

transition his thoughts reverted to the treasure, and he fell to

pondering on the probabilities of a successful issue to his undertaking,

and the chances of his being recognized in Cairo by any of his former

comrades. At this point he dropped off into a heavy sleep, and in his

sleep his mind went back into the past. He dreamed that he was a mere

youth and had just joined his regiment. A scene in his campaign in

Italy came vividly before him. His company were sleeping in the

marshes, when, suddenly, they were attacked. He could hear again the

clash of arms, the cries of the alarmed sleepers, and, in the distance

the sound of shots. It all seemed so real that, in his excitement, he

awoke and, with a cry, sprang to his feet.

In a moment he realized that this was no dream, but that they were in

truth attacked. He had no occasion to rouse Mahmoud; the lad was a

light sleeper and the noise had waked him. Both drew their swords and

rushed on to where the conflict was proceeding. His men were contending

against fearful odds, and the result of the encounter could not be

doubtful. He saw the hopelessness of their position, and felt that

death was staring him in the face; for all that, he did not hesitate an

instant, but threw himself upon the nearest foe. Before their swords

had crossed, he had recognized him as Yusuf; then he knew there had been

treachery; it was impossible the man could have been there by chance.

This sudden recognition and the thought it prompted, disconcerted him,

and, for the moment, threw him off his guard. Yusuf was a skillful

swordsman, and had had more practice with the desert weapon, with which

both were armed, than had St. Just. The Arab began to press him sorely,

and the young Frenchman found that he had met more than his match.

Still desperately he fought on, the personality of his opponent lending

fury to his attack. Indeed, both were animated by the same passion,

jealousy, for Yusuf had recognized in the other the man who had snatched

Halima from his arms and usurped his position in the tribe. His look of

malignant triumph was awful to behold, for in his eyes his hated rival

was already slain. With a skillful movement of his flexile wrist, he

sent St. Just's sword flying, then drew back his arm to make the lunge

that should deal the death stroke. The Frenchman felt that in another

moment he would have done with life. But that moment did not come.

Before the Bedouin could deal the blow, Mahmoud, who had been watching

his opportunity, got behind him and ran him through the heart. Yusuf

with a groan, threw up his arms and fell heavily to the ground. Before

St. Just had had time to realize his respite, a blow on the head felled

him also, and he knew no more.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

After the description of the affray with which the preceding chapter

closed, the reader will scarcely need to be informed that the message

from Halima's old nurse to Yusuf duly reached that worthy.

After a few inquiries, St. Just's messenger had discovered him in Cairo,

and told him of the treasure which, it was believed, was to be forwarded

to the city.

Forthwith Yusuf had set to work to utilize the information. Having no

means or followers of his own, it would be necessary to invoke outside

assistance. After casting about in his mind for a suitable associate,

he had pitched upon a man, with whom he had some acquaintance, who

followed the combined callings of pirate and slave dealer; a man who,

from his daring, unscrupulousness and ferocity, as well as more than

average swarthiness, had earned for himself the sobriquet of Black Ali.

The proposed adventure was quite in Black Ali's line, and he had entered

with avidity into Yusuf's scheme. He had grown rich on trading in human

flesh, and, accordingly, had found it easy to collect a gang of

scoundrels only too ready to place themselves at his disposal for any

undertaking, however desperate and lawless. It had been agreed that the

treasure they hoped to seize should be scared equally by Yusuf and Black

Ali. Arrangements had been quickly made and the filibustering party had

set out. It being unknown whether St. Just's party with the treasure

would travel by the river or the desert, both routes had been watched.

The solitary horsemen St. Just had seen at intervals, from the river,

had been Black Ali's scouts, and they had dogged the party all the way,

had seen the young Frenchman and some of his followers land at Thebes,

and conveyed the news to the slave dealer, who, when night had fallen,

had surrounded with his men and set upon the sleepers, with the result

already stated. Black Ali had believed that all St. Just's followers

had been killed; the attack had been so sudden that they had had no time

for their defense; they had hardly been awakened when they had been

slaughtered; all but two, who had escaped. No one had been hurt on the

side of the marauders, except Yusuf, who, as narrated, had been killed

by Mahmoud, a fate no one had regretted, least of all Black Ali, who now

saw himself possessed of all the treasure. Mahmoud, like his master,

had been struck down, almost as soon as he had run his sword through

Yusuf.

Seeing that St. Just and Mahmoud were not seriously injured--only

stunned--Black Ali ordered some of his men to carry them to the river

bank, whither he, with all his party, made his way. His intention was

to capture the large boat with the treasure and to sell as slaves such

of the crew as should not be killed, or too seriously maimed in the

approaching contest.

The smaller boat, in which St. Just had landed, and another were drawn

up on the river bank. These were quickly launched and crowded with as

many men as they would hold; then they were rowed softly and silently to

the moored boat, one making for the port and the other for the starboard

side. So noiseless was their approach that it was not until they were

almost alongside that they were discovered. Then an alarm was raised;

but it was too late, for all were asleep, except the watch, and, before

they had realized what had happened, the pirates were swarming over the

gunwales of the boat. St. Just's men did what they could, but the

contest was hopeless from the first. Outnumbered and but half awake,

some not having time even to seize their weapons, they were in no

position to make a stout resistance. One by one they dropped before the

savage onslaught of Black Ali's men, who kept ever increasing in

numbers, and pressing forward, while St. Just's men fell back fighting,

inch by inch. Two of them, to save their lives, sprang overboard,

hoping to swim ashore; they feared less the crocodiles than their human

foes. Their leader, the man St. Just had left in charge, fought

desperately himself, and urged his followers to do the same. Two of the

pirates fell before him to rise no more; but his courage was of no

avail; a gigantic Arab rushed up and threw himself upon him, and, by

sheer force, beat down his guard, then cleft his skull down even to his

chin. He dropped with a dull thud, but no sound escaped his lips. And

then, above the clash of arms and the shouts and groans, Black Ali's

voice rang out, "Yield and I will spare your lives. Your leader is

slain; further resistance has become useless."

There was a pause, and each man's hand was stayed. Then one of the crew

called out, "Swear that you will not slay us, if we yield."

"I swear, by Allah," was the pirate's answer.

Satisfied that he would keep his oath, the men suffered themselves to be

disarmed and bound. The whole affair had lasted but five minutes. Of

the defenders, uninjured or only slightly hurt, there were but twelve;

about the same number had been either killed outright, or wounded

fatally. The losses of the assailants were two killed and three slightly

wounded. When those who had surrendered had been secured against

escape, Black Ali gave orders for the dead and badly wounded to be

thrown overboard. The latter shrieked for mercy--to be allowed to die

in such peace as their wounds would suffer; but they might have spared

their dying gasps for mercy; as well might they have appealed to the

crocodiles, whose food they would shortly be, as to the pitiless Black

Ali. "Overboard with them," he cried, and overboard they went, their

dying shrieks smothered in the waters of the Nile.

Next the slave dealer sent one of the small boats ashore with six men,

to bring St. Just and Mahmoud on board, and with orders for the main

body of his band to follow the course of the river towards Cairo,

keeping well in sight of the large boat, on which he himself would make

the journey; for Black Ali knew better than to entrust his newly gained

treasure to the hands of others; he would not lose sight of it, till it

should be safely housed.

St. Just and Mahmoud were soon on board, and then the journey, that had

been so direly interrupted, was resumed; but in what different

circumstances!

The hurt to St. Just's head soon healed; he had received a severe, but

not a dangerous scalp wound, but his skull was not fractured, and, after

enduring a few days' headache, he was himself again. But only as

regards his bodily health; his mental sufferings were terrible. Black

Ali had taken a savage delight in informing him and his companions that

they were to be sold as slaves, and from this doom there seemed no

possibility of escape. The thought of Halima and the prospect of his

life-long separation from her well nigh drove him mad. Then he fell to

wondering whether any of his men had got away, and whether the news of

what had happened would be conveyed to her. In any case, she would be

suffering agonies of anxiety, either on account of her knowledge of what

had taken place, or at receiving no tidings from him. What would she do

when months had passed and she knew not whether her husband was alive or

dead? Would she console herself with some other man? He knew her

passionate, hot-blooded nature, and remembered her avowal that she could

not lead a single life; the reflection was torment to him. Would she

make her way to France, as she had always wished to? Most likely, when

she had given up hope of seeing him again. He cursed Buonaparte, he

cursed himself for the infatuation for her, that had led him to

sacrifice his honor and his country and to abandon the career he loved

and in which he felt he had had it in him to attain high rank. And what

was he now? Disgraced, a captive, soon to be a slave. He put his hands

before his face and groaned. In his despair and bitterness of soul, he

scarcely noticed the harsh treatment he received; his captors' scoffs

and jeers, the occasional cuffs they gave him, the coarseness and

scantiness of his rations, his bonds--for, except when food was given

him, his hands were tied; all these were nothing in comparison to the

desolation of his soul. But for Mahmoud, who preserved his spirits in a

manner that was marvelous, and did his best to cheer him by holding out

hopes of their effecting their escape, he would have cast himself over

the vessel's side and found relief from all his troubles in the Nile.

The days went on, and, in time, they found themselves lying off a

village a few miles from Cairo. Here Black Ali sent a messenger ashore

with instructions to his lieutenant, who had been proceeding along the

river bank with the main body of the band, to procure fifty camels on

which the treasure could be loaded.

The next day the camels arrived, and St. Just had the pain of seeing the

treasure that was the cause of his terrible predicament, that he had

endured so much to grasp, hauled out from the boat and bestowed upon

their backs.

When this work was completed, Black Ali placed his lieutenant in command

of the boat, with orders to proceed to Damietta. He himself would go

with the treasure to Cairo, and, when he had disposed of it safely,

would rejoin the party at that port. The prisoners were then to be

shipped on a vessel of his own, and taken to Benzert on the coast of

Tunis, and there sold. Then the two parties started, the distance

between them widening gradually, until the camels bearing the disastrous

treasure, passed out of the young Frenchman's sight.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*

The sun, now at its meridian, was pouring its scorching rays in a

vertical flood upon a long, low vessel, lateen rigged, whose sails now

filled out for the wind and now flapped idly against the masts, for the

breeze, which was from the starboard quarter, came only in light, fitful

puffs; so that the ship's progress would have been slow, had she

depended solely on her sails; as it was, aided by the impetus of

powerful sweeps each worked by two men, she was making about ten knots

an hour. Not a cloud was to be seen; far as the eye could reach, above

was one deep blue expanse, and the color was reflected in the water,

through which the vessel ploughed her way. She was hugging the African

shore of the Mediterranean. Not a ship could be discerned to starboard,

not a sign of life to port, where on the land naught met the eye but

rocks, flat stretches of barren land and sandy dunes, some covered with

dense, low scrub. Not even one of those desert scavengers, the

vultures, was to be seen. For all that was apparent, those on board the

vessel might have comprised the whole of the human race. The stillness

and silence were profound.

But not on the ship itself; there was no quiet there; the occasional

moans of the captives, stripped to the waist and bending submissively

while they labored at the heavy sweeps; the measured plash of these

last, in the rippling water; the harsh laughter of the leisured portion

of the men; the oaths of those whose turn it was to fill the role of

taskmasters to the hapless rowers, and who paced unceasingly the

vessel's deck, ever on the look-out for any one who failed to put his

whole strength into his work, and savagely lashing such a one, his bare

shoulders offering a ready mark for the heavy whip they wielded; the

cries for mercy of those thus struck; all these combined to form a Babel

that effectually banished stillness from the ship.

Among those who manned the sweeps were St. Just and Mahmoud, with others

of his men. Besides them, there were on board prisoners of various

nationalities, all destined by their captor for the slave market; for no

respecter either of persons or of countries was Black Ali.

Stretched on the poop under a protective awning, he now lay in sleepy

indolence, even his tawny and well-seasoned skin giving evidence, by its

greasy polish, of the sweltering heat.

Suddenly he raised himself upon his elbow and stroked his untrimmed

beard reflectively, the while he ran his cold, cruel eye along the line

of rowers--from his point of view no longer men, but mere sums of

money--scanning carefully each form that met his view, to see that it

was doing its full share of work with the heavy oar, to each of which

two men were chained.

His glance fell now on a Greek, now on a Moorish figure; then it

traveled from a Frenchman to a Negro, each crouched doglike, with his

tongue out, his eyes protruding from his head, the muscles of his back

and arms standing out in lumps and knots under the strain imposed on

them, the sweat pouring from his skin, saturating his linen waist-cloth

and causing it to cling the tighter to him.

Black Ali's eye moved down the line, beginning at the bow; at the bench

nearest to him it was arrested; only one man was pulling. His fellow,

overcome by his exertions, had dropped backwards, so far as his chin

allowed, and, regardless of the consequences, was resting; he could work

no more.

"Ho! there, you foreign dog," Black Ali shouted; and all started at his

voice. "You, you sluggish Frenchman," he went on; "would you delay us

by your sloth? Hadji!"--to the stalwart slave driver--"your whip wants

exercise, my man; wake up this Christian dog and make him work."

Having to pass along the whole rank of rowers, Hadji thought it well to

go one better than his orders. "Quicken your stroke, you dogs," he

shouted, and he strode along the line. To emphasize his words, he

raised his formidable whip. With a swishing sound it descended on the

shoulders of the nearest man, raising a long wheal on the already

cruelly scored back. A second time it fell on the devoted back, this

time drawing blood. And thus down the whole line the cutting thong was

wielded, finally falling upon the resting man and slashing him across

the face.

Instinctively, the poor Frenchman made a movement with his arm to

protect his bleeding face; but, alas, the arm was chained and could not

reach it. Still, for all his pain, he made no attempt to resume his

work. Either long ill-usage had made him reckless and deadened his

feeling to the lash, or he was too weak to move. In another moment, his

eyes closed and he fell forward.

"He is dying," said the slave driver to his master.

"Is he?" said the despot beneath the awning. "We will have no carrion

on board. Cut him adrift and tow him astern; he shall feed the sharks."

The order was no sooner given than executed. The dying and almost

unconscious Frenchman was unfettered from his sweep; then his wrists

were bound together and lashed to a log of wood, to which was attached a

rope, one end of which was made fast to the stern; then he was flung

overboard, the Arabs jeering as he splashed into the water. Face

forwards he was dragged onwards by the vessel. Thus, for some minutes,

he floated on. Presently a dark form was seen below the surface of the

water, and the wretched man, whom the sea had now restored to

consciousness, knew that a shark was making for him. His terror gave

him temporary strength, and he splashed and struggled wildly in the vain

hope of scaring off the monster, the while he turned a backward glance

of agony at the approaching foe.

Nearer and nearer came the shark, swimming leisurely, as though debating

on which spot he should first strike his victim. And now his back fin

could be plainly seen above the water. The spectators on the vessel,

who had gathered on the stern to see the sport, were shouting and

screaming in their excitement, some even making bets as to what part of

the man's body would be chosen for the shark's first bite. The slaves

looked on with apathy, maintaining the while the motions of the sweeps

with monotonous regularity.

There was a rush, a splash, then a piercing shriek, the shark made off

with a leg and the sea around the mutilated man became dyed a ruddy hue.

In his agony the victim writhed and splashed about and cried aloud. At

this, the laughter of the inhuman witnesses of the scene grew louder.

But the sufferings of the wretched man were not to be much prolonged.

Other sharks came up and soon another shriek was heard. Then there was

silence; the hapless Frenchman had been torn limb from limb.

The day wore on, and night succeeded afternoon, and the wearied rowers

were relieved by others, and allowed to sleep, in so far as the caprices

of their captors would permit.

But an awful horror had fallen on them; the dreadful sight that they had

witnessed had filled them with the fear that at any moment a like fate

might overtake each one of them. Hurried whispers were exchanged and

dark threats muttered against their captors, that boded ill for them, if

only they could be put in execution. The slaves' only chance to rise

and fall upon Black Ali's men would be when the gangs were changed and,

for the moment, their fetters were removed. At such times, however, a

careful watch was kept upon them.

Meantime they could only wait and hope.

*CHAPTER XV.*

In a few days the little seaport town of Benzert came in sight, and,

soon afterwards, the Arab dhow was riding at anchor off the mole, about

half a mile from the shore. It was the hour of noon, and across the

water, in the still, clear air, could be faintly heard the hoarse shout

of the muezzin calling the Faithful to the mid-day prayer. At the

sound, all the slavers, murderous, thieving ruffians though they were,

without a scrap of conscience or humanity, fell on their knees and bent

their heads, while they muttered their formula of praise and prayer. It

was a curious sight.

This duty performed, a boat was manned and lowered, and Black Ali went

ashore to arrange for the sale of his living cargo on the morrow.

The captives had done their last spell at the sweeps, and were no longer

fettered to them, but were chained together by the wrists in gangs of

from two to half a dozen. They were now lying huddled in groups about

the deck, enjoying such repose as their thoughts allowed them. Their

seeming hopeless apathy had inspired their callous taskmasters with

confidence in their docility and resignation to their fate; so that

Black Ali's satellites now paid little heed to them, and would have

laughed to scorn the suggestion that they meditated mutiny. They

believed their captives so completely cowed by the floggings and other

cruelties they had undergone that all their manhood had gone out of

them. And almost it had; but, cowed and abject, as they were, there was

still some manhood left, and below the even surface of resignation and

submission was a seething mass of rage and hatred which, given the

opportunity, would find a vent, and, boiling over, would overwhelm their

torturers as ruthlessly as does a stream of molten metal that has burst

its way from a smelting furnace upon the unsuspecting workers.

So far, whether from the cowardice or the hopelessness of the slaves, or

that a favorable opportunity had been wanting, no attempt at a rising

had been made. Now there seemed a chance, for the number of their

guards had been reduced, many of Black Ali's men having accompanied him

ashore. Those who remained behind were lolling lazily about the deck,

for the most part gazing at the shore.

St. Just and Mahmoud, chained together, were stretched in the shadow of

a boat, apparently asleep. Certainly the carpenter, who was repairing a

damaged boat hard by them, thought so. Occasionally he gave a glance at

them, then turned his back and resumed his work, unconscious that his

tool basket lay within reach of Mahmoud's hand.

But St. Just's eyes were fixed upon it covetously; given time and

opportunity, in it he saw the instrument of their enfranchisement.

Cautiously inclining his hands towards the apparently sleeping lad, he

whispered in his ear, but no sound escaped his lips. Silently,

stealthily, first looking around to see that he was not observed,

Mahmoud advanced his unchained hand; gradually it neared the basket;

over the edge and into it made its way. The next moment it was

withdrawn, but it was no longer empty; it held a strong three-sided

file. With the speed of lightning the lad thrust it into his waistband

out of sight. Then he cast his eyes round furtively, to see whether any

one had noticed him. His heart was beating violently, he breathed

painfully, the sweat was pouring from him, he was trembling from head to

foot. His glance assured him; he was satisfied that no one, but St.

Just, whose trepidation was equal to his own, had seen his act. A deep

sigh escaped him; it marked his unspeakable relief, and he breathed

easily.

Hardly had he concealed the file, when the order was given for the gang

to move forward to receive their rations. St. Just and Mahmoud whispered

a word to their neighbors, and quickly the news would permeate the band.

The lynx-eyed slave driver, by way of encouraging them to speed their

steps, gave each man, in passing, a sharp cut with the whip. But St.

Just and Mahmoud received theirs in silence, for both were inwardly

rejoicing, and they scarcely felt the pain, so buoyed up were they with

the thought that, before another hour should have passed, the inspiring

cry would have been whispered through the gang.

"A file, and freedom at the hour of sunset!"

The afternoon wore on, the captives seemingly even more quiet and

subdued than usual. No one, to look at them, would have guessed the

hope, the impatience, the thirst for blood, that were raging beneath

their calm demeanor. But, indolent and listless though they seemed, one

by one they were actively employed. The file was furtively at work.

Surreptitiously and with infinite caution it was passed from hand to

hand, each man filing almost, but not quite through the link that joined

him to his neighbor, so that with a slight effort, it could be snapped

asunder. This achieved, the file was handed on.

It had been planned that, if the file's work were done in time, the

rising should take place at the next call for prayer, for then their

custodians would be on their knees and, for the moment, off their guard.

St. Just was to give the signal; he was to raise his hand; no sound was

to be uttered.

Meanwhile everything was going in their favor. The crew had given

themselves up to rest, or sport, or dissipation, according to their

respective moods. Some were singing boisterously, some were gaming with

cards, some dicing; others were devoting themselves to the bottle; for

though followers of the Prophet, these lawless preyers on humanity took

no heed of his injunctions to abstain from alcohol; and with this all

were more or less inflamed. Some indeed, were so far overcome that they

were stretched upon the deck in drunken stupor. Most of them had cast

aside their scimitars, which were lying here and there, retaining only

their daggers on their persons. The muskets were stacked just below the

poop deck. The laughter, the coarse jokes, the quarreling of the

gamesters and the singing of the half-drunken men combined to form a

Pandemonium that was almost deafening. But for this, the sound of the

continued rasping of the file could scarcely have escaped their notice.

St. Just and his companions noted with satisfaction, and almost with a

smile, the condition and fancied security of their oppressors; and, even

more, the arms that lay about, and that they hoped would soon be in

their own hands. The order had silently been passed along that, the

moment they had broken their shackles, each man was to pounce upon a

weapon, and then throw himself upon a foe. Should there not be arms

sufficient to go round, belaying pins and other articles that might

serve as substitutes were to be seized; and the places of these had all

been marked, that there should be no hunting about when the moment for

attack should have arrived.

It was fortunate for the conspirators that a portion of the crew had

landed with Black Ali, for their work would be the easier; and St. Just

trusted that the others would not return in time to help their comrades.

But, even should they, the rising would still take place, for "death

before slavery; liberty at any cost," was the motto of one and all.

Hour succeeded hour and, at last, the word was passed along that the

file had done its work; every man could now free himself at will; all

that was wanting was the auspicious moment, and for this only patience

was required.

As the sun sank hour by hour, bringing the Mussulman's prayer time ever

nearer, the suspense and mental tension of the slaves became almost

insupportable, and anxious eyes were turned in the direction of the

shore, on the look-out for any sign of an approaching boat; but nothing

intervened between them and the land. There was a strained look on

every face, for the sun was now so low that the crisis might arrive at

any moment. It sank below the horizon, leaving only its reflected

radiance of gold and crimson. Then faintly across the water--so faintly

as to be almost inaudible, and but for the land wind it would have been

wholly so--came the echo of the muezzin's call. Spite of the din on

board the vessel, some one heard it and called out, "The Muezzin!"

The word acted like a spell. Drinking, dicing, card-playing were laid

aside; the swearer checked his swearing, the singer ceased his song; two

men who had quarrelled over their game, each accusing the other of

cheating, and had drawn their daggers to fight it out, replaced their

weapons in their waist cloths--they would renew the fight the moment

they should have performed their orisons--and even the sleepers roused

themselves. Every voice was hushed; then every knee was bent.

The moment the captives had so yearned for had arrived. Every eye was

turned upon St. Just.

Silently he raised his hand. Instantly, like one man the mutineers were

on their feet; there was a sound of jingling metal, and each man's hands

were free; a rush was made for the weapons, but there was no confusion,

for each seized the arm marked out for him, those nearest the stern

making for the muskets. Had they been drilled soldiers, their movements

could not have been better executed. The hope of liberty had lent them

discipline.

Then all their pent up fury burst its bonds, and, with a roar more awful

than that of a dozen lions sighting prey, their eyes glaring with

revenge and thirst for blood, they threw themselves upon their captors.

At the sound of the clanking fetters, Black Ali's men had risen from

their knees; at first so bewildered as to be incapable of taking in the

situation. But, in a moment, they understood too well, and they rushed

to seize their weapons, only to find they were too late. Some tried to

gain the firearms, but here also they were foiled. Two or three had

swords, but the rest had only daggers. They looked at one another in

consternation, and their faces fell; they read their doom in the

murderous looks of their assailants; but, merciless scoundrels though

they were, courage was the one virtue they possessed; and, resolved to

sell their lives as dearly as they could, they did not flinch from the

encounter.

Then the murderous work began. The fighting was all hand to hand, for

St. Just had given orders not to fire, save in the last resort, for fear

of arousing those on shore; but muskets were clubbed and swords were

flashed, and soon every member of the crew was hotly pressed by an

opponent--some by more than one, for the mutineers now outnumbered their

late masters. Having for the most part only knives and daggers, there

was scarce a possibility of opposing and guard, and the others gave them

little chance of coming to close quarters, whirling their clubbed

muskets about until they saw their opportunity, when down with a crash

they would come on some devoted head. And it was the same with those

who were armed with swords; such was the rapidity of their cuts and

passes, as effectually to keep the pirates at arm's length; they seemed

to move with lightning speed; then, at the first opening, a dull

swishing sound was heard, and the deadly steel was buried in a

palpitating body, and another of Black Ali's men was sent to his

account. Now and then, one of these, more agile and wary than the rest,

would manage to evade the opposing sword or musket, and, rushing in,

would strike his knife into his adversary. They fought with the

hardihood and courage of despair, but these availed them nothing against

the fury and ferocity of their assailants, who, goaded by the memory of

their sufferings for the past month, now saw their way to be avenged on

their tormentors, and seemed endowed with superhuman strength. What

cared they for a few slashes from sword and dagger? They scarcely felt

them. Among the whole of them there was not a trace of ruth or pity, no

thought of quarter. They were more like raging beasts than men. They

did not even think of liberty; they were swayed only by the impetus to

kill. They were irresistible.

Some of them were on the poop, shouting. "A moi, mes camarades, a moi!"

to those of their compatriots among the slaves. St. Just dashed up the

companion leading to it. He was followed by Mahmoud and a Frenchman.

A huge Arab, one of the few who were armed with swords, rushed forward,

raised his sword aloft and, putting all his strength into the blow, made

a cut at St. Just's head, that, if it had found its mark, would have

ended his career. But St. Just guarded himself and the blow fell on his

sword. Such was its force, however, that he staggered under it, so that

the Arab was the first to recover himself for another onset. He was on

the point of delivering a second blow, when, once more Mahmoud saved his

master's life. With the agility of a cat, he sprang on the fellow's back

and twined his arms around his throat. The next instant St. Just's

sword was through his adversary's heart; it even slightly wounded

Mahmoud. The Arab fell forward with a groan.

Meantime others of the slaves had gained the poop and, with the help of

those already there, they made short work of the remaining members of

the crew in that part of the ship.

Then all went down again to the deck. Here the fight was nearly over,

for, whenever one of Black Ali's men had fallen, his late adversary had

gone to the assistance of a comrade; thus the odds against the ship's

defenders kept increasing. Only three of these last now survived; they

struggled bravely, desperately, striving not so much to defend

themselves--for they knew that this was hopeless--as to inflict injuries

on their assailants. But, faint from pain and loss of blood, their

efforts were but feeble: one by one, they were struck down, until the

last had fallen. Then a yell of frenzied triumph went up from the

emancipated slaves.

The ship presented a fearful sight. More than twenty men were strewn

about the blood-stained deck, all showing ghastly wounds; some with

their skulls smashed in, others with their faces so slashed and bruised

as to be unrecognizable; some with their bowels protruding from their

bodies, all bleeding from numerous wounds, which showed how desperate

had been their fight for life. Their faces were horrible to behold.

All but a very few were dead, for, as each had fallen, his antagonists

had plunged their swords into him, until he had ceased to move; or had

beaten his brains out with the butt ends of their muskets. But some

still breathed, and groaned and writhed in agony. Their sufferings

would soon be ended. The cry went up, "Stop the music of those howling

dogs." It was received with a roar of laughter and shouts of, "Yes,

kill them, kill them every one, the man-hunting tigers."

The murderous work was quickly finished. The vessel ran with blood from

stem to stern, and a loathsome smell went up, the sickening odor of the

slaughter house.

Some of the mutineers had been wounded, in most cases only slightly,

some seriously, but none had received fatal injuries. The opposing

parties had been too unequally armed for that. Now that their enemies

were disposed of, those who were uninjured lent their assistance to

their wounded comrades, and bound up their hurts. St. Just was among

those who had escaped without a scratch.

At last they had attained their freedom; but, hardly had they begun to

congratulate themselves on their success, when a new danger threatened

them.

"A boat, a boat!"

The cry came from a man who was leaning over the bows.

All eyes turned shorewards. A boat had just put off; they knew it well.

Black Ali and his companions were returning. Swiftly the victors had to

decide upon their course. Their ability to cope successfully with the

slave dealer and his myrmidons was not in doubt; they were well-armed

and out-numbered them in the proportion of three to one. Moreover,

their position on the ship gave them, an additional advantage; there

would be little risk in the encounter; their danger lay in their

nearness to the shore; the fight would be witnessed from the mole, and

Black Ali's friends and the authorities of the place would come to his

assistance; then all their late efforts would have been in vain.

Ardently as they longed to meet their persecutor face to face and to

mete out to him the punishment he had so richly earned, they were

compelled reluctantly to forego their vengeance.

Their resolve was quickly taken; their only safety lay in flight. St.

Just, by tacit consent, assumed, for the nonce, the post of leader. No

sooner had they come to this decision, than his voice rang out, "Four

men to the windlass and cast loose the anchor."

The minutes were too precious to be spent in weighing it; it would have

to go, despite the risk they ran thereby.

Four men instantly ran up, and the next moment the windlass was whirling

round; soon the end of the chain was reached and with a rattle was cast

overboard.

"A sailor, a steersman," St. Just next shouted.

A tall Greek sprang to his feet.

"I can steer," he cried.

"To the helm, then," rejoined St. Just, "and stand by till the sweeps

are out; then bring her round."

The order was obeyed.

"Out with the sweeps, and row for your lives," went on the captain.

"Port side only, until you have got her head round to the sea; starboard

side back water."

The men dashed to the benches and took their seats, no longer chained to

the oars, but free men now. They began to pull as they had never pulled

before; harder even than when under the slave-driver's whip, since they

were rowing for their lives; for, if attacked, they would die, before

they would yield themselves again to slavery.

Slowly and steadily the dhow swung round, until her bows were pointing

seawards; then they set to with a will, pulling a long, even stroke that

sent them rapidly through the waves.

"Up with the sails!" was the next order.

There was a whirring of ropes, as they traveled through the blocks, and

up went the large triangular sails.

"Crowd on all you can--every rag of canvas!" their leader shouted.

There was no danger in this, for the wind was light, and, fortunately,

from the right quarter.

Soon every sail was set, and the ship, assisted by the rowers' efforts,

was bowling merrily before the wind. So promptly had all answered to

their new captain's call, that, five minutes after his first order had

been given, the ship had been got round, with all sails set, and had

begun to move.

While his instructions were being carried out, St. Just, as well as

others, was turning anxious glances towards the shore. Nearer and

nearer came the approaching boat and, by the time the dhow was under

way, it was little more than three hundred yards astern. But, before

this, Black Ali had seen, from the activity on board, that something was

amiss: and what that was he was not long left in doubt. Then his fury

knew no bounds. Just when he had made arrangements to turn his living

cargo into money, to see his ship and freight both taking flight

certainly was calculated to excite his ire. He jumped up in the boat

and cursed and raved and threw his arms about and shook his fist in

menace at the retreating ship; his crew also set up a howl of baffled

rage. They were answered from the dhow with jeers. Then Black Ali's

men fired musket shots, but the bullets only made little splashes in the

water and drew more derisive shouts and mocking laughter from the new

masters of the ship.

Black Ali saw that pursuit was useless, for the distance between him and

the runaway dhow was ever growing greater. He turned his boat's head

towards the land and rowed for the harbor with all speed, his intention

being to get some swift vessel lying there and overtake and recapture

his own. In this he would have no difficulty, for, by the laws of every

country, St. Just and his companions were mutineers and pirates.

The ship's crew cheered when they saw their late oppressor give up the

chase, but St. Just looked grave; he would have been better satisfied

had it been maintained; he guessed what Black Ali meant to do.

"Don't waste your breath in cheers, men," he exclaimed. "You will need

it all. Wait till we are clear of him. He has gone for the moment, but

he will soon be on our track in a ship that will out-sail us. Row your

hardest; your lives and liberty are at stake. Our only chance is that

they shall not sight us. In that the coming night will help us. Bend

your backs, strain every nerve and muscle until the darkness shrouds us.

Meantime, those of us who are now resting will lighten the vessel of

this Arab carrion, and swab the deck."

The rowers saw the force of what he said, and their efforts were

redoubled. The others set to work on throwing the dead bodies

overboard; and, when the last was gone, began to wash the blood-stained

deck; it would take many washings and scourings with holy stone to

obliterate the last vestiges of crimson.

Meanwhile the breeze had freshened, the sails were stretched almost to

bursting, but there was no listing of the ship, for the wind was dead

astern; the masts and cordage creaked and groaned and whistled, and the

dhow seemed to be going at racing speed, the bows ploughing up the water

in a deep furrow and leaving a stream of foam in the vessel's wake.

On, on, she flew, plunging into the trough of the great rollers, now

rising over their crests, the water gurgling and lapping against her

stern. Gradually the land became more and more indistinct, until,

finally, it faded out of sight.

At last night fell; never surely had darkness been so longed for. Then

the rowers' exertions slackened, and the heavy sweeps were shipped; it

was time, for the men were nearly spent. Soon a fresh gang would take

their places; but, before that, a palaver would be held. So far, they

had sighted no pursuers, nor, look which way they would, had they seen a

sail of any sort; they seemed to have the Mediterranean to themselves.

They had captured the ship; they had slain their persecutors; they had

gained their liberty; they had now to consider how to avoid recapture.

They would not be safe until they should have made some European port.

The English had swept the Mediterranean of all war ships, but their own;

and them they did not fear, for capture by them would, at the worst,

mean only temporary restraint. On learning the particulars, the English

authorities would hold them justified for all that had occurred. The

men they feared were the slavers, privateers and pirates, with whom

those waters swarmed.

When a lantern had been swung at the mast head and another placed within

the binnacle, the whole crew assembled in council on the poop. St. Just

opened the proceedings.

"The first thing to be done," he said, "is to appoint a captain. I am

wholly ignorant of nautical affairs, so I am out of it. Now, how many

practical sailors are there present?"

Half a dozen hands were raised; at the same time several voices called

out, "Theodori!"

This was the tall Greek at the tiller.

"Theodori," resumed St. Just, "you seem to be the only candidate, and I

am ready to place myself under your orders, till we gain the land. At

the same time, I think it would give all greater confidence, if you

would state your qualifications."

"I have had ten years' experience in the Mediterranean before the mast,"

Theodori promptly answered. "And have served for twelve months as first

officer in a large coasting vessel. I can navigate the ship and, if we

are not captured, can take you safely into port."

There was a mixture of modesty and confidence in his tone and bearing

that favorably impressed his hearers. All felt he was the right man for

the post.

"I like your answer," said St. Just, "and for my part, am prepared to

place implicit trust in you." Then he turned to the men. "What say

you, comrades, shall Theodori be our captain?"

"He shall," they shouted with one accord. "Theodori! Theodori!"

St. Just put up his hand for silence, and went on. "Now we must be

agreed on one thing, we must yield our captain absolute obedience--and

cheerfully and willingly; there must be no questioning his orders. Only

so can we hope to plant our feet on land again. So far, we have been

successful; let us not jeopardize our success; there is much to be done

before our safety will be secured. Captain!" to Theodori, "I await your

orders."

"I accept the post," said the new captain, "and thank you all for your

confidence. I hope so to sail the vessel as to show that it is not

misplaced. But, before I begin my duties, we must decide whither we are

bound. What port am I to make for?"

This point had not before occurred to them, and it gave rise to much

discussion. The few Frenchmen among them, captured stragglers and

couriers from Buonaparte's army, suggested a French port, Marseilles for

choice; some, one of the islands in the Levant; others Sicily, or Italy;

some wanted to go back to Egypt. St. Just was mute. His mind was so

unsettled that he resolved to leave to chance his destination. After

all who desired to do so had had their say, the Greek captain spoke.

"What we all want," he said, "is to get to shore as soon as possible.

Now the South West corner of Sicily is the nearest land in front of

us--almost due North. I shall have to sail the ship by dead reckoning,

and from memory, for I hear there are no charts, chronometer or

instruments for taking observations. Therefore, the less distance we

have to go, the less liability of error in reckoning. I strongly advise

Sicily, and the first port there we sight. But, if all agree upon some

other quarter, I will do my best to take you there. What say you, men?"

There was a short, murmured conversation, and then one man, acting as

spokesman for the rest, addressed the Greek. "We will be guided by you,

Captain. Sail the ship to Sicily, and good luck go with us."

The meeting then broke up.

Theodori at once began to issue orders, and in a tone that showed that,

once appointed, he meant to be obeyed. He called up the six men who were

sailors and, after a few questions, soon learned how to place them. One

he sent to the helm with instructions to keep the ship's head North; two

others were made first and second officers respectively of the watch; a

fourth was to be boatswain. The other two would take their turns at the

tiller. He decided to keep the first watch himself.

When he had made all his arrangements, he gave orders for the men to

have their rations. Then a man was placed on the look-out, and all

turned in for the rest they so well deserved and greatly needed.

The night passed uneventfully and the morning broke bright and clear;

then earnestly was the horizon scanned by all, Theodori standing by the

helmsman with the telescope to his eye. Presently he started almost

imperceptibly; astern of them a little to their port, he had discerned a

small white speck--a sail in the far distance; the hull was not yet

visible. Probably it was in pursuit of them, and Black Ali was on

board. The captain cast his eyes up to the sails; they no longer filled

out bravely, as on the night before, but swayed limply in and out, as

the wind first came in little puffs, then fell away; sometimes they even

flapped against the masts, for the breeze had died away, though still

dead aft of them; the dhow was making but little way. For the moment

the Greek looked anxious; the vessel in their wake was a much larger

one, with greater sailing power; then his face brightened and a smile of

triumph passed across it. What had seemed to forecast their destruction

might prove the saving of them. The pursuing vessel's progress depended

solely on the wind; the dhow had added propulsive power in the strong

arms of her men. Even in a dead calm they could keep on their course.

"A sail astern of us," he said, and the cry was repeated by the crew.

Then he called the boatswain.

"Man the sweeps," he said, "and change the gang every hour. Every man

must do his best, until that ship is out of sight."

The men obeyed the orders with alacrity, St. Just and Mahmoud being the

first to seize a sweep between them. Soon, assisted by the little wind

there was, the ship had a fair way on her. Gradually the rowers'

efforts began to tell; the vessel in their wake grew less and less and,

in two hours, not a trace of her could be seen. But still the men rowed

on, a fresh set being put on each hour; they required no urging to their

work; they had too much at stake for that.

They saw no more of their pursuer, if such she was. Occasionally they

sighted other vessels on both sides of them, but far away.

A few days passed, their freedom ever nearing consummation, and, at

last, from the look-out man rang out the welcome cry of "Land ahead."

At first there seemed only a long, low, far-off cloud, but to the

seaman's practiced eye it was the goal of all his hopes. The rowers were

not now at work, for the wind had freshened, and a good stiff breeze was

blowing. Rapidly the land grew more distinct, and presently Theodori,

who was at the bow, viewing through his glass the line of coast, which

he knew well, exclaimed,

"Sicily! Our nearest port will be Marsala: we will make for it."

In a few hours they were off the town; or, to be precise, two miles to

the right of it, it being thought advisable to land where they would be

little noticed. The sails were lowered; then the vessel was hove to.

Next, a few men were put to the sweeps to steady her, there being, as it

will be remembered, no anchor to let go. There was only one boat on

board--for Black Ali had the other--and this was manned and lowered, and

as many took their places in it as it would safely carry. "Give way

men," was then the order, and they pushed off, and started for the

shore, amid the cheers of those on board. All felt now that their

liberty was assured, and they were mad with joy.

The boat had to return four times before all were taken off the vessel.

St. Just and Mahmoud were among the final batch. Theodori, who had so

ably steered them into safety, was the last to leave the dhow. She was

abandoned for any one who chose to seize her. Black Ali might regain

his own, should he come up in time.

So far, there had been no mishap in landing. When the boat was run

ashore for the last time, those assembled on the beach gave voice to a

hearty cheer, which the others answered with a loud hurrah. Then, in

their excitement and in all good temper, they began to scramble from the

boat, each striving to be the first. In the general scuffle St. Just,

who was standing on one of the thwarts, received a violent push, that

was not intentional, from behind. He fell headlong forwards, his head

striking the boat's edge with fearful force. He rolled over

unconscious, with the blood pouring from a terrible gash that extended

from the temple to a considerable distance behind the ear.

*THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE.*

*EPOCH II.*

*THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE.*

*CHAPTER I.*

A few days before the close of November 1803 a small trading vessel was

making her way towards the Southern coast of France. A tall, handsome,

though careworn-looking man, about thirty years of age, was standing in

the forepart of the ship. Despite his civilian garb, there was an air

about him that proclaimed a military training. His eyes were fixed with

a far-off, dreamy look on the distant haze that heralded their approach

to land. But he seemed to take but little interest in the prospect; he

showed none of the excitement of a man returning to his country after

years of absence; only a dull, leaden curiosity.

At his elbow stood a young fellow with gleaming teeth and smiling face

and dark twinkling eyes. His coal-black hair and swarthy skin gave

evidence that he hailed from some Southern or Eastern clime.

The older man was St. Just, the younger Mahmoud, who had now broadened

and thickened, and become a man of powerful frame.

To explain their presence on a trading vessel a brief retrospect is

necessary.

When last before the reader, St. Just lay unconscious in the boat, with

a dreadful injury to his head. His companions, seeing that he made no

attempt to rise, picked him up and laid him on the beach. Then a cloth

was bound tightly round his head to check the bleeding, and they did

their best to bring him round. But all their efforts were unavailing;

St. Just remained in a state of stupor.

What was to be done? They did not like to leave him, and Theodori and

Mahmoud would not hear of it, the latter saying that nothing would

induce him to forsake the wounded man. On the other hand, to carry him

into the town, would call attention to them and might lead to their

arrest. Their intention had been to disperse on landing, and make their

way thither by different routes in twos and threes. After some

discussion, it was decided that four of them should remain with him,

until a place of shelter had been found for him. The main body then

separated, taking different directions. Mahmoud, of course, and

Theodori were among those left behind.

When the others had cleared off, the latter started in search of help.

A little way inland, was a village, and thither Theodori bent his steps.

He had gone not far, when he met one whose dress showed him to be a

priest. The very man, opined the Greek, and he approached him and told

what had occurred. He was familiar with all the tongues in use about

the Mediterranean, of which Italian was the most prevalent, and in this

language he addressed him. Naturally, all he told him was that, in

landing from a boat, a man had been seriously hurt, and was in dire need

of surgical assistance. The padre's sympathies were enlisted, and he at

once set off with Theodori to the shore and instructed the men to bear

the wounded man to his own house. This done, the Greek and the two

other men departed, leaving Mahmoud with St. Just. Then the good priest

fetched a doctor, a friend of his, and St. Just's injuries were attended

to.

He made steady progress towards recovery, so far as concerned the wound,

which in a month healed up; when, in bodily health, he was as well and

strong as ever.

But the injury to his head had had a strange effect upon his brain.

When he regained consciousness, his memory had wholly left him; he was

oblivious of everything that had occurred before the accident; the past

was an absolute blank to him. Even Mahmoud he did not recognize; had he

been asked his own name, or Mahmoud's, he could not have given either.

The lad had told the priest that his master's name was St. Just and his

own Mahmoud, and St. Just hearing the names so used, accepted them. It

was strange that this should not have aroused some memories in his

dormant brain; but so it was.

Mahmoud had begged so hard to be allowed to remain and serve St. Just,

that the padre could not find it in his heart to say him nay; he was

touched by the young man's devotion. The lad was both amazed and

shocked at the condition of his master's mind, and, for a long time,

tried every means to awake his sleeping memory.

He talked of Halima and the old sheik; of his accident, of Cairo, of

Black Ali, of the treasure, of the French Army, and of every

circumstance known to St. Just that he thought likely to take his mind

back to the past; but, with all his efforts, he failed to strike one

responsive chord. St. Just would give him all his attention, looking

wonderingly in Mahmoud's face, would seem to be striving hard to dig

into the recesses of the past, and then would answer wearily, "It is

useless, Mahmoud; my mind in regard to what is in the past is dead. I

recollect nothing that occurred before I woke up to find myself in bed

in this good man's house. I do not even remember having ever seen you

before that moment. I do not doubt the truth of what you tell me, but I

remember nothing of it, nothing."

So, seeing its uselessness, and that it even gave his master pain,

Mahmoud rarely made any reference to the past, and, after a month,

ceased altogether.

Both the padre and the surgeon were much interested in the case,

especially the latter; he had never met with such a one before. At

first he thought St. Just was shamming, that he had done something that

would not bear the light, and had artfully assumed his role of

ignorance, to shelve unpleasant questions. But he soon abandoned this

idea; there was no pretense about his patient's loss of memory. Then he

brought other medical men to see St. Just, and all were as puzzled as

himself. They talked of depression of the skull, of lesions, and

abscesses on the brain; but all agreed that nothing could be done; time

only might effect a cure. Should the lesion, or abscess heal, or

whatever was the mischief, be removed, most likely his memory would

return. They could say and do no more; in those days surgical and

medical science had not attained the position it holds to-day.

So desirous was the surgeon to see the outcome of the case, that he cast

about for a means to keep his patient under his eye. To this end, St.

Just being nothing loth, and also grateful for the surgeon's care, he

exerted himself to find him employment in the neighboring town; with the

result that, aided by the priest, he obtained for him a post with an

important shipping firm. St. Just's mind was active and intelligent

enough in all that concerned the present, and he performed his duties

with promptitude and assiduity.

With the same firm a subordinate post was found for Mahmoud. The lad's

account of who they were and how they came to be where they were found

was but a skeleton of the truth. He had all the cunning and shrewdness

of the Arab, and, in his master's strange condition, he feared to betray

something that might do him injury.

Occasionally a gleam of light from the regions of the past would flash

across the Frenchman's brain, but it was only momentary and was

extinguished even before it had begun to glow; and it left no trace

behind. As time went on, this occurred more frequently, and he told the

surgeon of it; whereat the latter argued that time would, indeed, effect

the restoration of his patient's memory.

Thus three years and a half went on. Then, one day, St. Just sought the

surgeon in great excitement. "Doctor," he said, "to-day there came to

me a thought that surely must be a reminiscence of the past. Hitherto,

when what I take to be a memory has flashed across me, it has vanished

ere I could lay hold of it: I never could remember what it was. But

to-day I can recall what passed through my brain an hour ago. It was

but confused and faint, but, such as it was, I can remember it. A scene

of battle floated before my eyes; I could hear the boom of guns, the

call of trumpets; the men were dressed in uniforms that seemed familiar

to me; some spoke French and some Italian; the latter gave way before

the former. Then the whole scene dissolved away. I can connect this

with nothing in my life; still, surely, surely, it means something to

me--or is it all hallucination?"

"It is no hallucination," replied the surgeon. "It is clear to me that

you have fought in the French army of Italy. Your memory will come back

to you; how soon I cannot say. But I can suggest how it may be speeded,

and the course you ought to take. Return to France; there you will see

so many things that are familiar to you, that I doubt not you will soon

recall every incident of your life. Take my advice and go at once. I

shall be greatly interested in the result. All I ask is that you let me

know it."

And St. Just took his friend's advice. The shipping firm in whose

employ he was gave him and Mahmoud a passage in a ship bound for

Marseilles. They also handed him, in addition to his salary, five

thousand francs; he had served them well, and they gave the sum

ungrudgingly.

This was how it had come about that St. Just and Mahmoud were now

standing side by side upon the trading vessel that was bearing them to

France.

On the good ship sped, and soon the rocky islet on which stands the

Chateaux d'If, famous in romance and history, came in view. Past this

she flew, like a bird anxious to regain its nest, and, ere long,

Marseilles was made. Then the sails were lowered, the rattling of

chains was heard, the anchor fell with a plunge into the water, and the

vessel was hove to.

St. Just, soon after, went ashore with Mahmoud. He had formed no plans,

but, unknown to him, his career was gendering in the future and, ere

long, would reach fruition. Meantime he was not without the wherewithal

for his support for a few months. He had in gold the equivalent of two

hundred pounds in English money.

The first thing to be done was to get shelter for the night; and St.

Just asked the skipper to direct him to a respectable hostelry where the

fare was good, the beds were clean and the charges moderate.

The skipper knew the very place--the Toison d'or (Golden Fleece); when

at Marseilles, he put up there himself. If St. Just would accompany him

to the agents of the vessel's owners, he would afterwards go with him to

the inn in question, and introduce him to the landlady. The prospect

was quite to the Frenchman's mind, and, in due course, they made their

way together to the Toison d'or, and Mahmoud with them.

Evidently the skipper was a persona grata to the landlady, for she

received him with a smiling face and warm congratulations on his return

once more to the Phocean city. Altogether she was most effusive; told

St. Just that any friend of Captain Ricci's was always welcome, and

would receive her best attention. Then she took him upstairs to a

bright, cheerful room, in which were two small beds. Everything was so

neat and clean, and the hostess was so pleasant and obliging, that St.

Just, who had been prepared to find that Ricci's description of the

hostelry had been couched in too glowing terms, was fain to admit that

every word of his friend's eulogium was deserved. He engaged the

bedroom on the spot, and then sent up Mahmoud with their baggage.

This business done, the skipper suggested a parting glass, that each

might wish the other "Bon voyage," and "Au Revoir," if possible.

St. Just was nothing loth, and together they adjourned to the common

room; it was pretty full, for work was over for the day. All sorts and

conditions of men were gathered there; market porters, dock laborers,

sailors, soldiers--mostly pensioners, who had lost a leg or an arm in

the numerous wars in which France for the last ten years had been

engaged. Besides these, there were town officials, shop-keepers and

professional men--the whole constituting a fair sample of the male

inhabitants of Marseilles.

All seemed to be babbling at the same time, and in all sorts of tongues,

and dense clouds of tobacco smoke filled the room, enough to choke one;

the walls and ceiling were thick with it.

At intervals along the sides, stuck into tin sconces, tallow candles

flared and guttered, emitting far more smell than light, for they were

so sparsely placed, as to do little more than make the darkness visible.

Towards the upper end of this sweltering, reeking, voice-resounding den,

Captain Ricci and his companion made their way, and found two vacant

places at a table. Casting his eye round through the haze of smoke, the

skipper spied a good-looking and neatly, though somewhat smartly,

dressed young woman who was moving from table to table, ministering to

the requirements of the customers!

"Amelie!" he roared out; and, almost before the name had left his lips,

the girl was at his side, all smiles.

They ordered some brandy, which presently Amelie brought. Ricci just

then saw a friend across the room; so, after drinking up his brandy, and

wishing his companion luck, he shook hands with him and moved away to

join his other acquaintance. Left to his own resources, St. Just found

himself listening, with a sort of half-awakened interest, to the

conversation of two men beside him, who looked as if they had seen

service in the wars.

St. Just had listened to their talk in a dreamy sort of way. It was

something to take him from himself, but he felt little interest in it,

and not all of it reached his ears.

The man who had been the chief talker now got out his pipe and began to

smoke; then, bringing his head nearer to his friend he puffed out a

great stream of smoke and resumed in a lower tone.

"But there's more to tell; the other day I saw that same Arab girl in

Paris--"

"You saw her in Paris?" interposed the other.

"But I am certain of it. I saw her driving in a carriage and pair,

dressed like a Parisian; and by her side was Colonel Tremeau, whom I

knew well in Egypt; he was a captain then of ours. What it all means I

know not, but she is living in great style, and passes as a Frenchwoman.

She is well known in Paris, it seems, and goes by the name of Madame

Halima de Moncourt."

At the sound of this name, all St. Just's listlessness vanished like a

flash; he started, as though some one had struck him an unexpected blow;

he felt a sudden whirring in his head, for all the world like that

produced by the breaking of a clock spring. Then he experienced a

strange sensation of relief; the leaden feeling that had so long

oppressed him, was no longer there; his brain felt clear and light.

Halima de Moncourt! Halima! These men were talking of his wife! de

Moncourt was her mother's maiden name. So she was in Paris!

Then, like a panorama, his whole past career unfolded itself before him,

special incidents in it standing out in strong relief; his first

commission, the day on which he had first donned epaulets; his first

experience in the battle field. Then his newly-recovered memory took him

on to the memorable occasion of his first personal acquaintance with

Buonaparte; when he saved his life and was afterwards introduced to

Josephine, and all that had followed from it--the Egyptian campaign, his

first sight of Halima, and his mad passion for her; his narrow escapes

from death; the finding of the treasure and its capture; his sufferings

on the slave ship and his subsequent recovery of his liberty. All the

incidents of his life, even to the minutest detail, were marshaled in

one long procession before his mental vision, and he knew himself at

last for what he was. The knowledge gave him little satisfaction. He

was a deserter, and, moreover, on the soil of France. Should any one

recognize and denounce him, he knew the penalty. To save his life would

tax all his inventive power, combined with daring and no little

shrewdness.

But, at all risks, he must see his wife; on that he was decided; he must

know in what position they were to stand towards one another. Had she

once more surrendered herself to Buonaparte--or to some other man? The

suggestion maddened him. And what about her oath of vengeance?

His brain was in a whirl. The heat and closeness of the fetid air

became unbearable in his present frame of mind, and he went out to cool

himself and think out his position in the fresh salt breezes from the

harbor.

*CHAPTER II.*

The next morning, St. Just, accompanied by Mahmoud, began his journey

Paris-wards. For the sake of economy, they traveled by stage wagon. It

was a cumbersome mode of transit, and the jolting frightful, for the

roads were bad. They went the whole distance at a walking pace, and,

with the exception of his experience on the slaver, St. Just found it

the most wearisome journey he had ever taken; it was not only the time

it occupied, but he felt bruised all over; sometimes, when he could no

longer bear it, he got out and walked. But, at last, early in December,

the spires of Paris came in sight, and never before had he hailed them

with such delight.

At once he engaged a cheap lodging for himself and Mahmoud in the Rue de

Dauphin. He was familiar with the district, for it was not far from the

Luxembourg, in which palace, it will be remembered, St. Just had a post

at the time of his introduction to the reader.

This little matter settled, he began his quest for Halima. From the

conversation he had overheard between the two men at the Toison d'or, he

had thought that this would be a simple matter; he had believed his wife

well-known in Paris.

But, from the inquiries he made cautiously, he found it otherwise. From

one point of view, this was satisfactory, for, from the men's remarks,

he had feared she had an unenviable notoriety--that her charms, in fact,

outweighed her virtue.

He began his inquiries with Mons. Gaston, the husband of his landlady,

but the worthy man, although shrewd enough and a clerk in a public

office, failed to obtain any light as to the whereabouts of Madame de

Moncourt.

Day succeeded day, and still St. Just could gain no intelligence of his

wife, and he began to think, either that she had quitted Paris, or had

assumed another name. Doubtless, he could have learned what he required

from the Bureau of Police, but he was unwilling to apply there. He had

not reported himself to the military authorities, and thus it would be

dangerous to communicate with the Police. His reason for not announcing

his return to Paris was that he feared he might be sent to some military

depot outside the city, and so checked in his quest of Halima. But he

was becoming very anxious; he knew the risk he ran; at any time he might

be recognized and denounced as a deserter. For this reason, most of his

inquiries were made at night, though sometimes he ventured out by day.

One morning he was wandering about, in a despondent mood, in the

neighborhood of the Halles Centrales, when a market cart filled with

vegetables, was driven almost over him. To save himself, he stepped

back and took shelter under the eave of one of the stalls.

He had scarcely done so, when he heard the sound of two men's voices in

a further corner of the covered booth. He could not see the speakers,

nor, probably, could they see him.

At first, he paid no attention to what was being said, but presently a

name was uttered that caused him to become all ears.