timber which
he had wrenched from a shop front in passing, "if you love me, keep
moving on, I will stop these two, or--Farewell!"

Without waiting for a reply, the youth rushed impetuously down the hill,
and was soon engaged in combat with the two Turks.

"Foolish boy!" muttered Francisco, hastening after him.

Mariano made short work of the soldier, hitting him such a blow on the
turban that he fell as if he had been struck by a sledge-hammer.
Unfortunately the blow also split up the piece of timber, and broke it
short off at his hands. He was therefore at the mercy of the young
officer, who, seeing the approach of Francisco, rushed swiftly at his
foe, whirling a keen scimitar over his head.

Mariano's great activity enabled him to avoid the first cut, and he was
about to make a desperate attempt to close, when a large stone whizzed
past his ear and hit his adversary full on the chest, sending him over
on his back.

"Well aimed, father!" exclaimed Mariano, as the two turned and continued
the ascent of the valley.

At its head Frais Vallon narrows into a rugged gorge, and is finally
lost in the summit of the hills lying to the northward of Algiers. Here
the panting pair arrived in half-an-hour, and here they found that all
their comrades had arrived before them.

"Friends," said Castello, who was tacitly regarded as the leader of the
party, "we have got thus far in safety, thank God! We must now make
haste to Pointe Pescade. It lies about three or four miles along the
shore. There a negro friend of mine has a boat in readiness. He told
me of it only an hour before I spoke to you to-night. If we reach it
and get off to sea, we may escape; if not, we can but die! Follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, Castello ran swiftly along a foot-path that
crossed over the hills, and soon led his party down towards that wild
and rocky part of the coast on which stand the ruins of a fort, said to
have been the stronghold of the famous pirate Barbarossa in days of old.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

IS DIPLOMATIC AND OTHERWISE.

Just after the escape of the slaves, as already narrated, the British
consul demanded a private audience of the Dey. His request was granted,
and one morning early he set off on horseback to the city. Arriving
there too soon, he put up his horse, and, threading his way through the
streets of the old town, soon found himself in front of the small and
unpretending, though massive, portal of Bacr