urned Amzi, "chains are still on my body. It is my
soul that soareth upward as an eagle."

"Wherefore?"

Amzi read the verse of Scripture aloud.

"I have heard somewhat of that before," said Asru. "Read it again."

Amzi did so, and explained it as well as he could. Asru listened
eagerly. This new creed interested him by its novelty, especially since
he was in forced inaction and had nothing else to think of. But it also
appealed to a heart which had some noble traits among many evil ones;
and as Amzi talked, sorrow for his sins came upon him.

"But the promise cannot be given to such as I," he said, wistfully. "A
long life of wickedness surely cannot win forgiveness."

"O friend," returned Amzi, eagerly, "'believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,
and thou shalt be saved.' How often did they tell me those words and I
would not believe, could not understand!"

And then Amzi told the story of the thief on the cross, as he had read
it and talked it over with Yusuf. His voice thrilled with eagerness,
and, on the other side of the wall, Asru wept tears of repentance. To
him too, the door was opening, and a great longing for the love of
Christ and for a better life filled his bosom. So they talked until the
noise of the awakening Moslems in the passage without rendered it
impossible for them to hear each other. But joy had come to both Amzi
and Asru within the prison-walls.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A SCENE IN PALESTINE.

"I had rather choose to be a pilgrim on earth with Thee than
without Thee to possess heaven. Where Thou art, there is
heaven: and where thou art not, there is death and
hell."--_Thomas a Kempis._

It was a scene perfect in its calm beauty. A small, low, white house,
flat-roofed, and dazzlingly clean, nestled at the foot of one of the
fairest hills in Palestine; and before the door swept the river Jordan,
plashing with that low, soft ripple which is music everywhere, but
nowhere more so than in the hot countries of the East.

A grove of banana and orange-trees sheltered the house, and the delicate
fragrance of the ripening fruit mingled with the perfume of late roses.
On the green hills near, sheep rambled at will, and an occasional low
bleat arose above the busy hum of bees, giving an air of life to the
quiet scene.

In the shade of the trees sat Nathan, his wife and Mary. They had been
talking of Manasseh,--poor Manasseh, left behind in barren Arabia!
Nathan too had wanted to stay wi