Front matter (continued 4)

Meanwhile, Halima had kept her eyes about to see how far she was being followed in her movements. In the result she felt satisfied that the watch on her was not so close as formerly, and this she told her husband, on his next visit. She said she was confident that she could now get away unnoticed, and urged him to arrange to leave the city at once. Now that she had become his wife, it fretted her to see so little of him; the hours seemed to pass so slowly in his absence, and she lived in a fever of unrest until he returned; she yearned for a renewal of his fond caresses and the ardent expression of his passion. So that she was prepared to run even great risks in order to be with him always; now, however, she thought they would run none.

Accordingly, it was resolved that the attempt to escape from Cairo should be made on the following day. It was now the middle of September, nearly a month since St. Just had fled from Alexandria.

At about four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day the passer-by might have seen three beggars loitering in a street not far from Halima's house. The oldest of the three was a villainous-looking old rascal, whose stomach swelled out enormously, as though he were suffering from dropsy. It may be at once stated, however, that its abnormal size was due not to a liquid, but a solid cause—hay stuffed in between his body and his clothing. This man was the Arab Abdallah. The two men with him were Mahmoud and St. Just, the former limping along with one leg bent at right angles and supported on a stump; the latter suffering, apparently, from some fearful face disease—paint artistically applied.

Beggars suffering from various diseases are common in the East, where they make a market of their disfigurements, which are profitable in proportion to their loathsomeness. As a matter of course, there are numbers of impostors among the tribe, and these are generally the most importunate in appealing to the charity of the sympathetic portion of the community. In fact, it is in the East, as with us in the West, those who make the greatest noise about their troubles are the least deserving.

Beggars being seen at almost every corner, the presence of these three sunning themselves on the steps of a house in a quiet street excited no suspicion.

"This begging seems to be a fairly profitable calling," said Abdallah, who had just made a successful appeal to a charitable passer-by. "No wonder there are so many halt and maimed about." And he chuckled grimly at the thought of the kindly dupes.

"No doubt it pays well," rejoined St. Just; "though 'tis a despicable life, at best. But come, it is time for us to be moving towards the house. 'Tis close upon the hour of prayer, when the Lady Halima is to join us. Are the camels in readiness, Mahmoud?"

"I have seen to that, Sir," replied the lad; "there will be no delay with them."

"Good," resumed St. Just. "We will be going."

And they moved on slowly, with the slouching gait that seems to go with beggars, towards Halima's street, passing on their way a mosque, from which they could hear the sound of voices raised in prayer.

Then they took up their station near the house and waited. Presently a small door in the wall—not the main entrance—was opened, and a young Arab boy stepped out and looked cautiously around. No one, but the three beggars, was in sight. He locked the door; then flung the key into the kennel, where it buried itself in a heap of garbage.

The boy stopped for a moment and seemed to be listening to the voices of the devotees in the neighboring mosque; then came swiftly towards the three watchers. Then something occurred that made St. Just's heart leap high. The boy drew from his breast something that St. Just instantly recognized as the amulet Madame Buonaparte had given him in Paris, and whose loss he had so much regretted, believing he should never see it again.

Convinced by this act that the youth was a messenger from Halima, St. Just remarked to Mahmoud in his natural voice, to satisfy the newcomer of his identity, "Mahmoud, this boy is surely a servant of the Lady Halima."

Before Mahmoud could reply, the young Arab had sprung forward with the cry of "Henri! My husband."

"Halima?" exclaimed St. Just, amazed. "No wonder I did not recognize you. What means this strange costume?"

"I thought I should, dressed thus, the better escape notice. But tell me how you like me in this garb? Think you I make a comely boy?"

And she laughed a merry laugh.

"A charming one, indeed," he answered, with a smile; "and 'twas a happy thought of yours. But we must not waste the time in pretty speeches. We will go on in advance, and you follow at a little distance, keeping us well in sight. You are far too pretty and well clad to form one of our ragged party."

And as he said, they did, making their way quickly to the three men's lodgings, which they all entered. Soon three men came out dressed like honest traders, the characters they intended to assume. They were accompanied by an Arab boy—so those who might meet the party would suppose.

Then they made their way down another street and halted at some gates that gave on to a large yard. Through these St. Just passed with Mahmoud, leaving Halima in Abdallah's charge outside. They were not long absent and, when they returned, they brought with them three camels, St. Just handing Abdallah a piece of paper.

"Ben Hadji is a good man," said that worthy. "He has kept faith with us. The Sheik, my master, will reward him. Thanks to him, our passage through the city gate and on to Gizeh should be easy."

Then the camels were got down on their knees and the party mounted—all but Mahmoud, who, in the character of a servant, was to walk behind, until they should reach the further boundary of Gizeh, where a camel would be provided for him.

Then the party started, Halima between Abdallah and St. Just mounted on their camels, and Mahmoud in the rear on foot. In due course, they reached the city gate, where they were challenged by the officer on guard; but the paper they had with them passed them through.

A few hours later, the same party dismounted, were waiting on a little landing stage on the river bank, at the point where the village of Gizeh stands. Moored to the stage was a long, low, boat with broad square sails; such a boat as is in use upon the Nile by the natives even at the present day. In this they were on the point of embarking when they heard shouts; and, looking round they saw an Arab, dusty and travel-stained, running towards them. He made at once for Abdallah, to whom he panted out:—

"Good master, I saw you from the bank. A minute later, and I should have missed you. I would have speech with you. My business is important. I have traveled far and fast to seek you."

He took him apart and whispered in his ear.

Abdallah's face lengthened at the communication, but, at first, he made no reply. Grasping the man by the arm, lie motioned him to the boat. "Step in," he said. "Our way is thine; we go to the 'Tomb of the Kings.'"

They were soon all settled in the boat, and the sail was set; then, the wind being dead aft, they began to travel rapidly up the river.

Presently Abdallah caught St. Just's eye and, unseen by the others, signed to him to come to him. When the young Frenchman had come up, the other whispered something in his ear. It was the communication he had received from the stranger, and at it St. Just looked grave. But almost immediately, he rejoined Halima, at whose side he sat, silent and preoccupied.

When his silence had become noticeable, Halima looked anxiously in his face and, noting his grave and sad expression, she laid her hand gently on his arm.

"Henri," she said, "something has happened to disturb you. I can see it in your face. If some new trouble has arisen, let me share it with you. I am your wife, and it is my privilege to do so. If I cannot console you in your sorrow, at least, let me bear my part in it. I am no coward, as you know. Tell me, my dear one," she concluded pleadingly.

He took her hand in his. "Alas! my Halima," he said. "I have sad tidings for you, but they concern not your husband, but your father. Your messenger brought news that your father has been stricken down by illness, sick, as it is feared, to death."

She gave a start, and a little cry proceeded from her lips. It was the last thing she had thought of. Her father, though well on in years, had always seemed so hale and strong.

"My father ill, and like to die?" she cried. "Oh! may Allah save him. He is all I have, save you. Oh! tell them to make all speed. I must, I will see him before he dies, if die he must."

The tears gathered in her eyes, and she wept silently.

"My dearest, we could not go faster than we are," he said. "The wind is in our favor and is carrying us forward bravely. Bear up, my Halima, in the hope that Allah will so order it, that you shall see your father again."

She made no reply to this, and he sat on, silent, by her side, still holding her hand in his.

Presently, when her first grief had spent itself, her tears ceased to flow and she dried her eyes. Then she looked up trustfully into St. Just's face and said, "It will be as Allah wills; if I am to lose one protector in my father, I have gained another in my husband. Strong in the possession of your love, I will not rebel against the decrees of Allah."

"Fear not, my dear one," he replied earnestly. "I will be father, lover, husband all in one to you, henceforth."

And she smiled at him lovingly in reply.

CHAPTER XVIII.

St. Just and his party met with no adventures on their way, and no difficulties beyond such as were inseparable from the river and the desert; but their progress was slow, for there were often delays in getting boats for such stages as were traversed on the river, and these they made as frequent as they could, preferring this mode of journeying to the tracking of the arid desert. But, owing to the bends in the river and also to the cataracts, they were perforce compelled to leave it many times and travel overland.

The last stage was made upon the river, and about six weeks after leaving Cairo—which brought them to the beginning of November—they landed at a small village, which was little more than a group of huts, a few hours' journey from the "Tombs of the Kings," where, as St. Just soon learned, the old Sheik was still encamped.

A messenger was at once despatched to inform the tribe of their arrival, and to announce to the Sheik that, in a few hours, Halima would be with him.

Soon after daybreak on the following morning, they made a move, and, by two o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the out-lying tents of the tribe.

Quite a crowd of people were on the look-out for them, for Halima was beloved by every member of the tribe, and all the party had relatives and friends among them. St. Just, too, was no stranger, and, during his previous stay with them, had gained their confidence and esteem.

When the party came up, therefore, the excitement was tremendous. Men, women and children crowded round them, shouting and gesticulating with delight; Halima, who had spent all her life with them until her father had taken her to Cairo, being the center of attraction. The people rushed forward to kiss the hem of her cloak, to touch her saddle, her stirrup iron—anything that was hers; Halima was touched by the heartiness of her welcome, and her large, dark eyes filled with tears, even while her face beamed with smiles and she bestowed thanks and greetings on the eager faces upturned to hers.

Even the very dogs—those mangy, yapping curs, without which no Arab encampment is complete—shared in the general enthusiasm, running round and round the new arrivals and barking merrily.

It was almost like a royal progress, for the crowd, which was ever on the increase, pressed on with the party, until they came to a halt in the center of the camp.

But, amidst all this turmoil of congratulation, Halima never, for an instant, forgot her husband. The looks of mingled pride and love she turned on him would have satisfied the most exacting man that, though she was grateful for all these tokens of affection, he had all her heart, that he was ever in her thoughts, and that she was ready to forsake her kith and kin, if needs be, so long as she retained his love. In addressing him, she loved to dwell with iteration on the words "Mon mari." In them she summed up all her love and trust. His was the arm that helped her to dismount—though many others proffered their assistance—and to which she clung when she alighted.

No sooner had they gained their feet, than an old, gray-headed man approached them. In him both St. Just and Halima recognized the doctor of the tribe. Halima at once rushed up to him.

"Oh! Ben Kerriman," she exclaimed, "My father! how is he? He is alive?"

"He is alive, Lady," Ben Kerriman made reply; "but he is very weak, and so worn that you will scarcely know him. Still the fever has now left him, and he suffers only from excessive weakness."

"I will go to him at once," she cried eagerly. "Dear father, I long to see him. Come, Henri."

A path was formed for them through the crowd, and they made their way to a large square tent, which St. Just, at once, recognized as the Sheik's; for, in front of it, he and the old warrior had spent many an hour, while smoking their long chibouques, in friendly chat.

When they reached the entrance, St. Just halted and drew back. He thought that, father and daughter having been parted for so long, both would prefer to have their first interview in private. But Halima, at once divining his unspoken thought, seized him by the arm and dragged him forward.

"Of course you are to come in with me," she said in French. "I have no secrets from you now; you are my husband. Besides it is right that you should be with me when I tell him that we are married. Dear, I want you."

He made no more ado, and they went in together.

In a few seconds, when their eyes had accommodated themselves to the dimness of the light, they saw in the far left hand corner of the tent—which, after the luxury of her surroundings at Cairo, struck Halima as bare and comfortless—a couch formed of a pile of skins. On this, propped up with cushions, the old Sheik reclined. He was worn almost to a skeleton, his brown, shriveled skin giving him the appearance of a mummy. The only signs of life about him were his eyes, which shone with unnatural brilliancy, but with no vacant glitter; it was plain that, though the body had lost its strength, the brain still maintained its sway. St. Just could scarce refrain from shuddering at the appalling change in the old Sheik's appearance.

By the side of the bed of skins, within reach of the sick man's hand, was a small round table, on which was placed a horn of cooling drink. A charcoal brazier, with smoldering embers, stood in the center of the tent. Crouched in a corner, watching with apparent unconcern the figure on the couch, was a withered old hag, presumably the nurse. At the entrance of the newcomers, she turned her eyes listlessly upon them, but took no further notice of them.

At the sight of her father, Halima uttered a low cry of pain; then she ran up to the bed, threw herself on her knees beside it, and, seizing one of the claw-like hands that rested on it, covered it with kisses.

"My father!" she cried, "Allah be praised that at last I see you. Oh! I have been fearing that I should be too late, for I heard you were so ill. But, now that I have come I will nurse you back to health."

There was a slight movement in the poor, withered hand, and the glittering eyes took on an expression of content; but presently, this changed to one of puzzled questioning.

At once she read aright the inquiry in his eyes. She rose from her knees and beckoned her husband to her side.

"He wants to know how I got here," she said; "tell him, dear; it will please him to know what you have done for me."

Then St. Just came forward and, taking Halima's hand in his, addressed the Sheik.

"I promised that I would bring your daughter, Sir, and I have kept my word."

Before he could say more, Halima intervened, "And he has brought you more than a daughter, father, he has brought you a son; he is my husband, and oh! he is so kind to me." She turned her eyes lovingly upon St. Just.

A look of wonder overspread the old man's face, and he turned his eyes affectionately on his daughter; then they sought St. Just. And now, for the first time he spoke, though in so low a tone that he was scarcely audible.

"I am happy, now that my daughter has come back to me safe and well; and I thank you, my son, for bringing her. The news I have just heard bewildered me; but it is well; you have but anticipated my wishes. And you are happy, child; he is good to you?"

"Oh! so good; nobody could be kinder; I have not a thought ungratified. Oh! father, I have had more happiness in this last month than in all my previous life. And another thing, before we married, he joined our faith; he is now a true believer."

A faint smile lighted up the old man's face. "Allah is great," he said, "and Mohammed is His prophet. It is enough; I now can go in peace. My children, may your lives be long and happy." Then, to St. Just, "I give you an old man's blessing, my son; in my Halima you have won a treasure; look to it that you cherish her as she deserves, for I can see that you have all her love; she has a gentle heart, be careful that you wound it not; a delicate instrument, whose chords will not endure rough handling, but will respond feelingly to a gentle touch. Accordingly as you deal with her, may Allah deal with you."

He held out a long, lean hand to the young Frenchman, who pressed it gently, then raised it to his lips.

Then he bent his gaze again on Halima, and held out his arms.

"Embrace me, my child," he said.

Halima knelt down beside him and threw her soft, warm arms around his neck, and kissed him fervently; then rested her head upon his breast. "Dear father," she murmured, "it now only needs one thing to make my happiness complete—to see your strength restored. I will nurse you back to health, and Henri will assist me; it is but weakness that you suffer from."

"A weakness, my child, that will only end in death."

Then, seeing the look of sadness in her face, he added, "But not just yet; I feel now, that a few days still remain to me—it may be weeks. The sight of your dear face has acted like a breath of wind upon the spark of life still left in me, and fanned it into a feeble flicker, though it will never rekindle the dying embers of my frame. But I am content; I have had my day, and it has been a long one—longer than that of most men—and now my night has almost come."

"Oh, say not so, my father," urged his daughter. "It is because you are weak and weary that this is in your heart. I cannot bear to hear you talk thus."

He laid one sinewy palm upon her head and stroked it gently.

"We will say no more of it, since it makes you sad," he said. "We will talk of your affairs." He turned to St. Just. "How comes it, my son, that you were able to leave your brothers in arms for the long journey from Cairo to this place?"

St. Just paled at this, and a look of pain came into his face. He could not put away from him the thought of the epithet that would ever be coupled with his name—a deserter, and in time of war—and he knew that he never would, strive how he might; though his life might not be forfeited, the finger of scorn would be always pointed at him by those aware of his disgrace.

Halima, who knew his every mood, noted his expression of distress, and, to spare him the pain of the confession, intervened before he could make answer to her father's question.

"He has left the French army, and all for love of me," she said. "But do not talk of it, my father, for he likes it not. It is no light matter to renounce one's country for a woman's love, and this sacrifice he has made for me. For the future, he is of our people."

The old Sheik looked in wonder at St. Just; such a sacrifice was beyond his comprehension.

"How he must have loved you, child," he said. "I loved your mother, more than all others in the world; but, even for her, I would not have given up my country or my faith; have sheathed my sword for ever and exchanged the excitement of the battle field, the clash of weapons crossed in deadly combat, the rattle of musketry, the deep boom of guns, the exultant shouts of victory, the pursuit of the flying foe—all this; for the smiles and gentle dalliance of any woman, however fair. Oh! no, I could not have made the sacrifice. I marvel not that he dislikes to dwell on it. We will talk of it no more. Child, you must be no niggard in your love for him; even then you will be his debtor in devotion."

But the excitement he had undergone was telling on him, and he sank back exhausted.

"I am tired, I can talk no more," he murmured. "I feel that I can sleep."

He closed his eyes, and, in a few seconds, he was slumbering peacefully.

"Come," said Halima, "we will withdraw for a space, and return anon."

All this while, the old woman in the corner had remained motionless and silent.

Now, for the first time, Halima caught sight of her. With a little cry of pleasure, she ran forward to her and threw herself on her knees in front of her.

"Nana!" (Nurse) she cried, "I had not seen you. Surely you have not forgotten your little Halima."

Instantly the old woman's features seemed to wake to life; the look of apathy departed, and what was meant for a smile of pleasure took its place; but St. Just thought it ghastly. "My child," she cried, and opened her arms to the dainty form before her. Halima, still kneeling, bent forward and embraced her. The old woman kissed her, crooning over her the while. Then both women gabbled away in low tones, but so rapidly that St. Just, though now a fair Arab scholar, could scarce catch a word.

Presently Halima rose from her knees, and, taking her husband by the hand, she drew him forward. Then she bent her head and whispered a few words in her nurse's ear. As St. Just rightly guessed, she was telling the old woman who he was. Then she turned to St. Just.

"Henri," she said, "this is my old nurse; she was present at my birth and nursed me through my childhood; she has always been with us, and she closed my mother's eyes."

St. Just acknowledged the introduction in a few appropriate words; but, much to his surprise, they seemed to rouse the old creature's ire; for she first favored him with a searching stare and then with an evil scowl. Instinctively St. Just felt that he had made an enemy; but why, he was at a loss to guess. He would ask Halima when they were outside. The hag took no verbal notice of his greeting, but merely mumbled to herself, her expression becoming every moment blacker; and thus they left her.

CHAPTER XIX.

The news that St. Just was married to the daughter of their chief quickly spread amongst the tribe. At first great dissatisfaction was expressed; scowls and ominous grumblings were flung at him in passing, some of the men even going so far, among themselves, as to threaten to take his life, so soon as the old Sheik should be no more. The general impression was that, taking advantage of the girl's innocence and her absence from her father, St. Just had used unfair means to make her his.

But, when it became known that the old Sheik had previously given his consent to the intended marriage, and even desired it; further, that St. Just had become a true believer and had renounced his country and adopted theirs, the grumblings gradually died away, except on the part of a few of the younger members of the tribe, who were partisans of the Sheik's banished nephew Yusuf, and had looked forward to his assuming the leadership at his uncle's death. There seemed little chance of this, they feared, now that Halima was married to a man beloved and trusted by her father.

It was now three weeks since the return of Halima with her husband; the old Sheik still lived, and had even gained some little strength, but none could doubt that it was but temporary, and that the end could not be long postponed, in spite of all his daughter's loving care from the moment of her coming.

But one day, their hopes were unexpectedly revived. The day was bright and warm, and seemed to put new vitality into the old Sheik. Halima was much surprised when he raised himself on his elbow without assistance, and said in tones far stronger than he had used of late:

"I feel strangely better this afternoon, my child, and have a longing to see the sun once more, and to breathe the pure desert air; I would be borne to the outside of the tent, where I can see my people."

A look of joy came into his daughter's face, and she sprang up with a little cry. "Oh, father," she exclaimed, "your words sound in my ears like the trickling of water to the thirsting Bedouin; for they tell me that you will yet regain your strength; the change, so long delayed, has at last set in. Praise be to Allah for it."

"Nay, be not deceived, my daughter, 'tis but the expiring flicker before the lamp goes out. But lose not time, get help to bear me out."

So Halima, first telling her old nurse to look to her father while she went out to execute his biddings, left the tent in search of her husband and others to assist him. They soon had formed a comfortable couch of skins and cushions; and then the old man was carried out and set upon it, and propped up with pillows. Then Halima and St. Just seated themselves, one at each side of him.

At first the Sheik said nothing, contenting himself with taking deep draughts of the balmy air, and turning his eyes towards the sun the while he shaded them with his hands. Every moment he seemed to be gaining strength.

Presently he turned his face upwards towards the heavens and spread out his hands; then, at last, he spoke.

"I thank thee, All Merciful, All powerful Allah, that Thou hast permitted me once more to behold Thy glorious sun and to breathe the pure air that sweeps across the desert. And now I pray Thee sustain my strength while I impart my last washes to those from whom I shall so soon be parted."

He crossed his hands upon his knees and turned his eyes first on Halima, next on St. Just, and then went on: "While I have strength to speak, my children, I will give you my last instructions; for something tells me this is my final opportunity."

"Nay, father, say not so," cried Halima, and she laid her little hand on his withered ones and stroked them lovingly, "I cannot bear—"

"Interrupt me not, my child," he broke in solemnly; "for I have much to say to you, and I know the time is short. It is about the buried treasure that I would speak to you. Has your husband told you aught of this?"

"He told me on our journey here, my father,"

"He did well; then I need not recapitulate." Then he turned to St. Just and laid his hands upon his arm. "These are evil days for us, but they will pass. Your chief General has left the country and returned to his own land. Doubtless, he thinks that the generals and the army he has left behind will achieve his purpose of making Egypt an appanage of France. But something tells me that it will not be so; his army will melt away before the climate, and the valor of our people, and our country will be freed from the invader. And then will come the time for the restoration of my father's house in the person of my daughter—and of you, her husband. If you rightly play your part, a great destiny awaits her, and you will share it; and I doubt not you will do so. But, to come to the matter whereof I wish to speak to you. When I am no longer with you, you must choose a fitting time for the removal of this treasure and for its disposal according to my directions. Once I hoped myself to carry out my plans concerning it; but Allah has willed otherwise; my course is run, and you must act for me.

"Here," and the old Sheik took a packet from his breast and handed it to St. Just, "you will find my views put forth; in these papers have I set down the names of the men to whom the gold and silver is to be consigned. They are men of probity and judgment; men who, like myself, have been watching and working secretly year by year, in the face of obstacles almost insurmountable, to complete our plans.

"If things go right when I am gone, Halima will be Queen of Upper Egypt, for she will be the head of a powerful tribe—the strongest and most ancient of all the desert tribes. You, as her husband, will then occupy a high position; but it will be to you no sinecure. I doubt not that, though you are now one of us, the creed and nationality you have abjured, will be urged against you. At first you will meet with opposition, but you must not be discouraged, but exercise great tact and patience, and thus in time you will surmount it."

His voice had been getting gradually weaker, and now a pallor overspread his face, which also became damp with sweat.

"I faint; the draught!" he gasped, and his head dropped forward.

St. Just placed his arm around him and rested his head upon his shoulder; while Halima held a goblet, containing a stimulating and nourishing cordial, to his lips, watching him anxiously the while. He drank it eagerly, then closed his eyes. They feared the last moment had arrived, and St. Just placed his hand upon the old man's heart. Its pulsations were stronger than he had expected. The two watchers gazed at him with affectionate solicitude, but neither spoke a word.

In a few minutes, to their relief, the old warrior opened his eyes and raised his head. Then he began to speak once more. But Halima checked him.

"Oh! father," she cried, "be still a while; you are not strong enough for further speech at present."

"My strength has come back to me, my child," he said, "and I must use it while I may; and talking will not harm me. But I will first drink again."

Fearing that opposition would hurt him even more than would the effort of talking, Halima said no more, but again held the goblet to his lips.

"I can hold it," he said somewhat touchily, and he took it from her. He handed it back to her, and then resumed.

"At one time I had hoped that your cousin Yusuf would have filled my place and ruled the tribe, when I am gone; but he has grievously offended me in the way that you both wot, so that his place in the tribe is blotted out. But I fear he will not take his banishment with patience. Be wary of him, for I am assured that he will trouble you. However specious his promises of fidelity, trust him not; have no dealings with him. Let him not plant his foot within the borders of the tribe. If he do, have no mercy on him; kill him ruthlessly, as you would a scorpion; or a venomous snake. You will have no safety while he lives, for he has friends among the young men of the tribe, who will never cease to plot for him, till he is dead. Our good doctor will inform you of them. He is faithful, as the sun that never fails to run his allotted course. He helped you into life, my child, and his love towards you is great. And now I will rest me for a space, ere I summon my warriors about me; for, presently, I must have speech of them."

He sank back on his cushions and closed his eyes; in a few minutes, from his measured breathing, he seemed to be asleep.

In about an hour he opened his eyes and looked round inquiringly, with a dazed expression. They lighted upon Halima, and he smiled; a look of intelligence appeared upon his face.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "I recollect; you brought me here. I have been asleep and feel refreshed for it. The sun has warmed my blood and put new strength in me. I will address my people while it lasts. Call all my warriors, and let them place themselves before me in due order."

"Oh! father," began Halima, "it is too much for you; it—"

"Be silent, child; I will have it so," he interrupted sternly.

She shrank back, cowed, and made no further effort to dissuade him.

Then the word was passed throughout the camp, and eagerly responded to.

When the whole tribe was gathered in front of him, Ben Ibrahim raised his hand, and every voice was stilled. Even the little children held their peace, impressed by the solemnity of the occasion, without knowing what it meant.

"My children," the chief began—and his voice was clear and strong—"I have called you here to rest my eyes on you once more, and to take my last farewell of you; for the river of my life has almost ceased to flow; and I do not murmur that it should be thus, for I have lived longer than is given the most of us, and it is meet that I should go. I have known every one of you from his birth, for I am older than the oldest of you. In all the many years in which I have been your chief I have striven to deal out justice to you, and, at the same time, to temper it with mercy; but man's knowledge is so limited, and his judgment is so fallible, that some of you I may unknowingly have wronged; if so, I now ask your forgiveness. My warriors, we have stood together on many a hard fought field, and our swords have drunk the blood of worthy foes. Sometimes for a brief space we have been worsted, but never have we turned our backs except when hopelessly outnumbered. Generally I have led you on to victory, and, when we have returned to our women and our little ones, we have not come empty-handed from our enemies. I miss the faces of some who have fallen at my side, but it was the will of Allah, and we dare not question it, and there is no more glorious end than to die fighting for one's home and dear ones. I thank you for your courage and fidelity, and I charge you solemnly to yield the same to her on whom will soon devolve the headship of the tribe—my daughter Halima, whom you have known from the moment of her birth. Also to her husband, my dear son-in-law; and I take this opportunity of declaring that it was with my full consent and wish he married her, and of her own free choice. Yield him, therefore, the same unswerving confidence and obedience you have accorded me. He is worthy of it, and can, moreover, teach you many things unknown to you—new arts, by which you may defeat your enemies; new modes by which you may increase your wealth and comfort; new forms of pleasure for your leisure hours. Therefore, I say to you trust him and conform to his behests.

"You have heard me patiently, and now I ask you with my last breath—for you will see my face again no more—will you be true and faithful to my daughter and her husband, and serve them loyally as you have served me, even to laying down your lives, if it be necessary?"

There was a moment's silence, and then the assemblage shouted with one voice:—

"We will."

"Then swear it on your knees," resumed the Sheik. "Swear it in the presence of Allah, who knows all that is in your hearts, and will deal with you in the great hereafter according to your deeds, and will mete out a fearful punishment to the perjured traitor; swear that you will yield true and loyal service to my daughter and him who is her husband. They, in their turn, shall take the same oath to you."

He raised his arm, then moved it slowly downwards as a sign to them to kneel. The next moment, all were on their knees, the little children, who were too young to understand, being pressed down by their mothers. Then all the men stretched forth their hands to Halima and St. Just, and took this oath of fealty.

"We swear to take the Lady Halima as our ruler, and to be true and faithful to her and to her husband and to defend them against all adversaries while the breath is in our bodies. May Allah so deal with us, as we deal with them."

"It is well," said the Sheik, "I can die content."

When the people had regained their feet, he turned to Halima and St. Just.

"It is your turn, my children."

Then Halima laid her left hand on her father's shoulder, and St. Just moved to her side and took her other hand in his. Then, raising his right arm, he faced the multitude. Thus standing hand in hand—a handsome pair, forsooth, as every one confessed—under the broad, blue expanse, the sinking sun full in their faces, they swore to uphold the honor of the tribe, to be true and just in all their dealings with them, and to do their utmost to promote their welfare. It was St. Just alone who spoke on behalf of both.

When he had finished speaking, Halima bent her gaze downward on her father. He was motionless, his head had fallen forward, and his eyes were partly closed and void of all expression. An awful fear crept over her.

"My father! he has fainted," she exclaimed. "Ben Kerriman!"

The doctor stepped round from behind the Sheik, and placed his ear against the old man's heart; then, looking very grave, he removed his head and took a little mirror from his pocket, and placed it before the patient's lips. When he examined it, its surface was unsullied, its brightness was undimmed. Then Ben Kerriman faced the people, on whom the hush of an impending woe had settled, and raised his hand.

"My friends," he said, "Ben Ibrahim has joined his fathers."

CHAPTER XX.

The next day the old Sheik was laid to rest with his ancestors in the "Tombs of the Kings." At first Halima was inconsolable in her grief; but, from its very intensity, it soon spent itself, and her thoughts, from dwelling upon her father, reverted to herself.

She set herself, and in this she was ably seconded by her husband, to gain popularity in her new position; and, to say this, is to say that she succeeded, for her youth and beauty, her sweet temper and winning manners, and her kindness and generosity, compelled her retainers' enthusiastic loyalty, so that they almost worshiped her; also they admired and honored him.

Altogether she was in danger of being spoiled, for St. Just also yielded to her in everything and never sought to impose his will on her. Ben Kerriman, the old doctor, noted all this with regret, and one day remonstrated with St. Just.

"My son," he said, "you will pardon an old man for offering unsought advice; for you know my strong regard for the Lady Halima. But you let her have too much of her own way; it is not good for women to be independent. She should be taught, even more for her own sake than for yours, to control her wishes; she should not have everything she wants. I know her disposition well; she is generous and affectionate; but she is by nature dictatorial and ambitious, and filled with unsatisfied desires. And these qualities have become far more marked since her father's death. I foresee that, unless she be kept in hand, even should she gain the goal marked out by the late Sheik, and become Queen of Upper Egypt, she will not be content. What she has set her heart upon is to go to France and there to make a position for herself. Recollect, too, that she is half French; it was partly that, no doubt, that inclined her to yourself. It would be a terrible disappointment to us all, should she forsake her father's people."

St. Just thanked the old doctor for his kindly meant advice and promised seriously to consider it.

Strange to say, at that very time something was occurring that seemed to lend confirmation to the doctor's views of Halima's disposition. Soon after her father's death, she had chosen to consider herself slighted through the non-observance by a neighboring tribe of some trivial ceremony customary on the decease of a friendly Sheik; and St. Just had been surprised at the importance she had assigned to it and the temper she had shown. Since then, she had been continually urging him to invade their territory to chastise them. But he was unwilling to break the peace of the district, that had been so admirably kept by the old Sheik; and had, so far, held her back.

With a view of diverting her attention from the subject, he proposed that they should set about the recovery of the buried treasure; to his delight, she at once acceded to his suggestion. So he called together some of the elder members of the tribe—those with whom the old Sheik had been in the habit of taking counsel—and told them what he and Halima had resolved.

Accordingly, a party was formed, which, beside St. Just and Halima, consisted of six of the leading members of the tribe, Abdallah, Mahmoud and a guard of forty-five men.

St. Just had been surprised when Halima had announced her intention of accompanying the expedition, and had done his utmost to dissuade her; but she had been resolute to go, and, of course, had had her way.

So, early one morning, they set out. It was now three weeks since the old Sheik's death.

They traveled with all speed, but, for all that, it was nightfall when they reached the rocks that marked the entrance to the subterranean city. To explore it at that time could not be thought of, for all were more or less fatigued; so St. Just gave orders for the camels to be tethered and for the men to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, an impromptu tent being rigged up for Halima. Then fires were lighted, and a meal of stewed kid, supplemented with dates and rice, was prepared and duly eaten. This done, a watch was set, and the men disposed themselves to pass the night, each rolled up in his blanket. St. Just, before he retired to rest, walked through the camp, to see that all were settled and to give his last instructions to the sentry. Then he himself lay down just outside Halima's tent.

But, tired though he was, he could not sleep; his brain was busy with thoughts of the treasure the morrow would disclose—of what it would consist, its value, and all that it might lead to. He tried to put the thoughts away from him, for he longed to sleep; but, the more he tried, the more wakeful he became, and he tossed about from side to side, in the vain hope that, by changing his position, he would effect his purpose.

Presently the sound of a light footfall reached his ear, then some one behind him touched his arm. He started up and laid his hand upon his dagger, believing himself about to be attacked. Halima stood beside.

"You startled me, sweetheart," he exclaimed in muffled tones. "Is anything the matter; are you ill?"

"Hush! no," was her reply, and she put a finger to her lips, "but I want to talk to you, undisturbed. Everyone is now asleep."

She sat down beside him and drew her hood forward, so as to conceal her face. Then, "Henri," she resumed, "do you remember what I said in Cairo the night you pressed me to become your wife?"

"A good deal was said," he answered, "on that memorable occasion; but what is it that you wish me specially to recall?"

"This, that, instead of ending my life as I had intended, I said I would live for you and Buonaparte—for love—and vengeance—vengeance on my betrayer."

St. Just was roused; he had hoped Halima was forgetting this episode in her life, as he himself was striving hard to. The subject was abhorrent to him.

"My dear," he said, "why refer to this? I had hoped it was fading from your memory. We are happy in each other's love; why cherish revengeful thoughts that are impossible of accomplishment?"

"Impossible? They are not; they shall not be. I am as firm in my resolve as ever. So you thought I had forgotten. Know that I will never rest, until I have been revenged on him. You little guess the stuff that I am made of. You know how I can love; you shall learn how I can hate." The words ended almost in a hiss.

All this was a revelation to St. Just, and, for the moment, he was nonplussed.

"Well," he said weakly, "what do you purpose doing?"

"I have thought it all out. Listen. My father told us just before he died that in this treasure, beside the gold, there is vast wealth in jewels—opals, diamonds, rubies of great size and value; but, for all that, occupying little space.

"Now my plan is this; when we have got the treasure to the camp, you shall take the gold to Cairo to those appointed by my father to receive it. Then, instead of returning to the tribe, make your way to Suez and there await me. I will join you with the jewels, and we will take ship for France."

"A very pretty plan, but you will have to get the jewels first; no easy matter with so many eyes about."

"I'll manage that; trust a woman for hoodwinking those about her."

"But how can I set foot in France? Buonaparte would have me shot as a deserter. But, even supposing my presence were unknown, and I escaped; if we killed Buonaparte, we should pay forfeit with our heads; and then, what would profit us all our wealth?"

"Kill him? That is not my aim. No, I shall wait till his power has become supreme; then I will drag him down."

"Words, idle words, my dear, that can never eventuate in deeds. I doubt not that you have the will, but you almost make me smile. How can you, a mere woman, control the future of such a man?"

"You shall see when his hour has come, mere woman though I am. When he has reached the zenith of his power, he shall be hurled suddenly into ignominy and exile, and eat his heart out in captivity. Then he shall know that I have had a hand in all that has befallen him, and learn the intensity of my hatred."

"And you will help me to be revenged on Buonaparte?" she asked, after a little pause.

"Willingly," he answered earnestly. "He is the cause of all our trouble. To be revenged on him I am prepared to face all risks—yes, even Hell's torments, rather than abate one jot or tittle of his punishment. Are you content?"

A cruel smile of triumph played about her lips.

"I am," she said. "See that you never waver in your resolution. As for my own, it is as fixed and sure as the sun round which we move. It is the very breath of my existence, and will cease only either with my death, or its fulfillment. I have not thought out the details of my plan; there is ample time for that; but, with the wealth at our command, the instruments for retribution will not be hard to find."

"But you are weary, love, and you have much to do to-morrow, and the night is far advanced. Come into my tent, my Henri." She laid her hand on his. "Ah! you are cold," she cried with gentle sympathy. "You shall rest with my arms around you, close to my heart, and I will give you warmth, and lull you off to sleep."

He made no demur, and she led him to her tent.

Thus was the oath to be revenged on Buonaparte re-sworn. At that moment he was preparing, away in France, to take up the reins of government as First Consul, and, could he have heard them, would have laughed to scorn the threats of Halima and her husband.

CHAPTER XXI.

At daybreak the camp was all astir. Fires were replenished for the preparation of the morning meal, which some attended to, while others were told off to feed the camels. Then all breakfasted, and the final arrangements for the day's proceedings were completed.

When they were on the point of starting, much to St. Just's annoyance and regret, Halima came up ready dressed to join the party.

"My dear," he said, "you surely cannot think of going with us."

"Naturally," she replied simply.

"But it is impossible," he rejoined. "You have no conception of the roughness of the road; we have to burrow underground, and the way is full of danger. No woman could face it."

"If there is danger, the greater the reason that I should go with you. I will not run the risk of being left alone to face the world. If aught befall you, it shall strike me too."

"But," he urged, "where a man would run but little risk, a woman would run much. Besides, the care of you would impede our movements."

"I care not; I mean to go with you. Come, we are wasting time."

He saw she was immovable, and he sighed.

"Be it so," he said, and, without further words, they started.

On their way to the entrance of the subterranean passage, they had to pass the lake. To their surprise, they found that more than half of it had disappeared. The shallower portion of what had been the lake, consisted now of dried up mud, intersected with deep fissures, with here and there a shallow pool. Only at the end nearest the high rocks, beneath which lay the buried city, was the water deep, and black as night.

While St. Just was gazing at it, Mahmoud came up behind him and touched him on the arm.

"Look, master; look what I have found," he said, when St. Just turned round; and he handed him a little slab about one inch square and a quarter of an inch in thickness. In color it was of a dull reddish yellow, and on one side of it could be discerned the indistinct figure of a cat. St. Just carefully examined it, and weighed it in his hand. Then he took out his dagger and scratched the surface. It was soft; it was pure gold!

"Where did you find this?" he inquired.

Meanwhile, some of the others had come up and were gazing enviously at what was in his hand.

"In the grass, close to this hole," replied the boy, his brown face wreathed in smiles, though he had not the least notion of the value of his find; but he saw, by his master's face, that St. Just was pleased.

"Look about, some of you, and see whether you can find more," St. Just went on.

A careful search was made, but no more gold pieces were forthcoming. Evidently this was a stray one dropped either in the hiding, or removing of the treasure.

"Here, sweetheart," he said, handing it to Halima; "take this as a keepsake; it is the first fruits of our expedition."

"I will have a brooch made of it," she said.

Having seen all there was to see about the lake, they retraced their steps to where the camels were tethered. Here St. Just gave final directions to those who were to remain behind, and then the party of treasure seekers made their way to the entrance of the passage leading to the buried city, all carrying torches.

One by one they disappeared within the entrance, each man lighting his torch inside from the one preceding him, until all were within the opening. Then they proceeded cautiously down the easy descent the passage took, until they reached the point at which the real danger began; and here their leader called a halt.

Mindful, from the experience of his previous journey, of the shoot down which one had to slide—an easy task, when one was aware of it, for a man, but hazardous for a woman—he adopted special precautions for securing Halima from accident.

What he did was this—and it was only his knowledge of the length of the shoot that made it possible—he sent one man down to the bottom of the slope with a lighted torch. Arrived there, he was to lie at full length on his back close against the side of the tunnel. Then another man was to follow in the same way, setting his feet on the shoulders of the one below; and so on, until the entire length of the steep incline was occupied. By this means the whole stretch was lighted most effectively, and a passage was left at the side of the men, down which Halima could travel; in case her progress should become dangerously rapid, the men could check it. Then he tied a rope round Halima's waist, and she began the descent feet foremost on her hands and knees, he standing at the top and paying out the rope as needed. In two minutes she had reached the bottom. Then he followed, and the torch-bearers after him, beginning from the topmost man.

In due course, they reached the roadway that gave on to the ruined city, and here they halted for a moment to view the wondrous scene, which many of them now saw for the first time. Halima's eyes sparkled with excitement; she seemed enraptured.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "It is like being transported to another world. I could not have imagined such a scene; never again will my eyes rest on such a sight. Oh! I would not have missed it for all the world. And to think that you would have deprived me of it, Henri."

She seemed loth to leave it, but stood turning her eyes from one point to another, without further comment. Presently St. Just recalled her to their errand.

"It is indeed a wondrous sight," he said, "but we must not dally here; we can admire it further, when we have done our work."

"You are right," she said: "let us go on."

St. Just gave the order, and the whole party made a sharp turn to the left, along the pathway to the temple, which lay not many yards away. What had been once a noble doorway was now a yawning gap, and through this they passed, to find themselves in a gigantic hall, down which ran two long rows of pillars, which served to support the roof, the span of the building being such as to require them. In the semi-darkness it was impossible to see whether the roof still stood. Between the pillars there were marble statues which, considering their antiquity, were marvelously well preserved—sufficiently so, at any rate, to show that those who had produced them were no uncivilized barbarians, but men who had a thorough knowledge of the sculptor's art.

In the center of the building a much larger statue reared itself. The figure was at least twenty feet in height, and was placed on a pedestal ten feet high, the whole resting on a flight of half a dozen steps that faced four ways. The figure represented a man perfectly proportioned and of majestic mien. It wore a crown and was draped in flowing robes; the right arm was raised and bore a sword. Doubtless, the statue was the counterfeit presentment of the god to whom the temple had been dedicated.

At the foot of this statue they found the object of their search. Around its base were piled, one upon another, strong wooden boxes bound with iron. They were oblong, eighteen inches by twelve, and about nine inches deep. St. Just counted them; there were forty-eight. Then he raised the end of one of them to judge its weight; it took more strength than he had thought. From the size of the boxes and their weight, their contents must be gold—about two hundred-weight in each, as he supposed. He made a mental calculation. Then he turned to Halima and said in French: "Gold. If they are all alike, there is the value here of about fifteen million francs."

"So much as that," she said. "It seems an immense sum. But think you the jewels are packed with the gold?"

"Most likely not; we will make a further search before we go."

Meanwhile, the restless Mahmoud, who had been peering about, called out:

"This box not full; lid cracked. Little yellow bricks, like that I found, inside."

St. Just looked and found the boy was right; the box held layers of little golden slabs.

Now that St. Just was advised roughly of the amount of treasure—the weight and number of the boxes—he had to consider the mode for its removal; he saw, at once, that he had not provided means for its transport in one journey to the camp; the camels they had brought with them could not possibly carry it all. The first thing, however, was to get it above ground, and the chief difficulty would arise in the passage with the sharp ascent.

Only half the party was underground, the rest remaining with the camels at their temporary encampment. St. Just divided his men into gangs of three, of which one would carry a torch and two a box, one at each end. There were eight of these gangs, so that, to move all the treasure, each would have to make six journeys. Their leader's intention was to have all the boxes deposited at the foot of the steep incline, before attempting to haul any of them up.

The orders given, the men began the work, the eight parties filing out of the temple, each preceded by its torch-bearer. They set off at a fair pace, but quickly slackened, and their progress became momentarily slower, as their burdens seemed to increase in weight. Two hundred-weight, borne as this had to be, is no mean load, and frequent rests were necessary; so that it took quite half an hour to do the distance there and back. Thus it would occupy three hours, merely to move the treasure to the slope. When the men returned from their first journey, they showed the stress of their exertions in their perspiring faces and still rapid breathing.

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.