ere signs of devastation for which the exterior
of the city had not prepared him.

The brilliant but brief twilight of the Orient was fast fading away; a
sombre purple tint succeeded to the rosy flush; the distant towers rose
black, although defined, in the clear and shadowy air; and the moon,
which, when he first entered, had studded the heavens like a small white
cloud, now glittered with deceptive light.

Suddenly, before them rose a huge pile. Oval in shape, and formed by
tiers of arches, it was evidently much dilapidated, and one enormous,
irregular, and undulating rent, extending from the top nearly to the
foundation, almost separated the side to which Alroy and his companions
advanced.

Clambering up the remainder of this massive wall, the robbers and their
prisoner descended into an immense amphitheatre, which seemed vaster in
the shadowy and streaming moonlight. In it were groups of men, horses,
and camels. In the extreme distance, reclining or squatting on mats and
carpets, was a large assembly, engaged in a rough but merry banquet. A
fire blazed at their side, its red and uncertain flame mingling with the
white and steady moonbeam, and throwing a flickering light over their
ferocious countenances, their glistening armour, ample drapery, and
shawled heads.

'A spy,' exclaimed the captors, as they dragged Alroy before the leader
of the band.

'Hang him, then,' said the chieftain, without even looking up.

'This wine, great Scherirah, is excellent, or I am no true Moslem,'
said a principal robber; 'but you are too cruel; I hate this summary
punishment. Let us torture him a little, and extract some useful
information.'

'As you like, Kisloch,' said Scherirah; 'it may amuse us. Fellow, where
do you come from? He cannot answer. Decidedly a spy. Hang him up.'

The captors half untied the rope that bound Alroy, that it might serve
him for a further purpose, when another of the gentle companions of
Scherirah interfered.

'Spies always answer, captain. He is more probably a merchant in
disguise.'

'And carries hidden treasure,' added Kisloch; 'these rough coats often
cover jewels. We had better search him.'

'Ah! search him,' said Scherirah, with his rough brutal voice; 'do what
you like, only give me the bottle. This Greek wine is choice booty. Feed
the fire, men. Are you asleep? And then Kisloch, who hates cruelty, can
roast him if he likes.'

The robbers prepared to strip their captive. 'Friends, fri