a Turkish official. Even the politest
of them would, just at this particular moment, be conveniently engrossed
in the examination of some book or paper. His courtesy was further
extended by locking up our "horses," and making us his "prisoners" until
the following morning. At the dinner which Mr. Evans and we were invited
to eat with his excellency, benches had to be especially prepared, as
there was nothing like a chair to be found on the premises. The governor
himself took his accustomed position on the floor, with his own private
dishes around him. From these he would occasionally fish out with his
fingers some choice lamb _kebabh_ or cabbage _dolmah_, and have it passed
over to his guests--an act which is considered one of the highest forms of
Persian hospitality.

With a shifting of the scenes of travel, we stood at sunset on the summit
of the Binalud mountains, overlooking the valley of the Kashafrud. Our two
weeks' journey was almost ended, for the city of Meshed was now in view,
ten miles away. Around us were piles of little stones, to which each pious
pilgrim adds his quota when first he sees the "Holy Shrine," which we
beheld shining like a ball of fire in the glow of the setting sun.

[Illustration: PILGRIM STONE HEAPS OVERLOOKING MESHED.]

While we were building our pyramid a party of returning pilgrims greeted
us with "Meshedi at last." "Not yet," we answered, for we knew that the
gates of the Holy City closed promptly at twilight. Yet we determined to
make the attempt. On we sped, but not with the speed of the falling night.
Dusk overtook us as we reached the plain. A moving form was revealed to us
on the bank of the irrigating-canal which skirted the edge of the road.
Backward it fell as we dashed by, and then the sound of a splash and
splutter reached us as we disappeared in the darkness. On the morrow we
learned that the spirits of Hassan and Hussein were seen skimming the
earth in their flight toward the Holy City. We reached the bridge, and
crossed the moat, but the gates were closed. We knocked and pounded, but a
hollow echo was our only response. At last the light of a lantern
illumined the crevices in the weather-beaten doors, and a weird-looking
face appeared through the midway opening. "Who's there?" said a voice,
whose sepulchral tones might have belonged to the sexton of the Holy Tomb.
"We are _Ferenghis_," we said, "and must get into the city to-night."
"That is impossible," he answered, "