-minded on big things. But, of course,
Doctor," he added jerkily, "you have interests of your own and must
decide for yourself. I think I can speak for the Sergeant."

"I have decided," I answered. "I hope that my son would never forgive me
either; but if it is otherwise, why, so it must be. Also Barung has made
no promises about him."

"Tell him, then," said Orme. "My head aches infernally, and I want to go
to bed, above ground or under it."

So I told him, although, to speak the truth, I felt like a man with a
knife in his heart, for it was bitter to come so near to the desire of
years, to the love of life, and then to lose all hope just because of
duty to the head woman of a pack of effete curs to whom one had chanced
to make a promise in order to gain this very end. If we could have
surrendered with honour, at least I should have seen my son, whom now I
might never see again.

One thing, however, I added on the spur of the moment--namely, a request
that the Sultan would tell the Professor every word that had passed, in
order that whatever happened to him he might know the exact situation.

"My Harmac," said Barung when he had heard, "how disappointed should I
have been with you if you had answered otherwise when a woman showed you
the way. I have heard of you English before--Arabs and traders brought
me tales of you. For instance, there was one who died defending a city
against a worshipper of the Prophet who called himself a prophet, down
yonder at Khartoum on the Nile--a great death, they told me, a great
death, which your people avenged afterwards.

"Well I did not quite believe the story, and I wished to judge of it by
you. I have judged, white lords, I have judged, and I am sure that your
fat brother, Black Windows, will be proud of you even in the lion's
jaws. Fear not; he shall hear every word. The Singer of Egypt, who, it
appears, can talk his tongue, shall tell the tale to him, and make a
song of it to be sung over your honourable graves. And now farewell; may
it be my lot to cross swords with one of you before all is done. That
shall not be yet, for you need rest, especially yonder tall son of a god
who is wounded," and he pointed to Orme. "Child of Kings with a heart of
kings, permit me to kiss your hand and to lead you back to your people,
that I would were more worthy of you. Ah! yes, I would that _we_ were
your people."

Maqueda stretched out her hand, and, taking it, the Sultan barely
touched