able to escape and
get into the land of Mo, was now the sole anchor of my life, yet as the
monotonous hours passed, the light in the chink above grew brighter and
time after time gradually faded into pitch darkness, I felt compelled to
admit that my anticipations were without foundation, and that Omar, the
courageous descendant of a truly kingly race, was dead.

In the dull dispiriting gloom I sat hour after hour on the stone bench
encrusted with the dirt of years, calmly reflecting upon the bright,
happy life I had been, alas! too eager to renounce, and told myself with
sorrow that, after all, old Trigger's school, or even the existence of a
London clerk, was preferable to imprisonment in Samory's stronghold. Many
were the means by which I sought to make time pass more rapidly, but the
hours had leaden feet, and while the tiny ray struggled through above, my
mind was constantly racked by bitter thoughts of the past, and a
despairing dread of the hopeless future.

One morning, however, when I had lost all count of the days of my
solitary confinement, my heart was suddenly caused to leap by hearing the
unusual sound of footsteps, and a few moments later my door was thrown
open and I was ordered by my captors to come forth.

I rose, and following them unwillingly, wondering what fate had been
decided for me, ascended the steep flight of steps to the courtyard
above, wherein I found a crowd of Arab nomads in their white haicks and
burnouses. Samory was also there, and before him, still defiant and
apparently almost recovered from his wounds, stood my friend Omar.

I sprang towards him with a loud cry of joy, and our recognition was
mutually enthusiastic, as neither of us had known what fate had overtaken
the other; but ere he could relate how he had fared, the Mohammedan chief
lifted his hand, and a dead silence fell on those assembled.

"Omar, son of the accursed Naya whom may Eblis smite with the fiery
sword, give ear unto my words," he said, in a loud, harsh voice. "Thou
hast defied me, and will not impart to me the secret of the
Treasure-house, even though I offer thee thy freedom. I have spared thee
the second torture in order that a fate more degrading and more terrible
shall be thine. Hearken! Thou and thy friend are sold to these Arab
slavers for this single copper coin."

For an instant he showed us the coin in the palm of his brown hand, then
tossed it far away from him with a gesture of disgust.

"Ye are