dy for which
he had paid in lively potent gold.

Yet by the gates he paused again. "I will appeal me to the Basha," he
threatened. "Asad-ed-Din is just, and he will have my money restored to
me."

"So he will," said the dalal, "when thou canst restore the dead to life,"
and he turned to the portly Ayoub, who was plucking at his sleeve. He
bent his head to catch the muttered words of Fenzileh's wazeer. Then, in
obedience to them, he ordered Rosamund to be brought forward.

She offered no least resistance, advancing in a singularly lifeless way,
like a sleep-walker or one who had been drugged. In the heat and glare
of the open market she stood by the dalal's side at the head of the
well, whilst he dilated upon her physical merits in that lingua franca
which he used since it was current coin among all the assorted races
represented there--a language which the knowledge of French that her
residence in France had taught her she was to her increasing horror and
shame able to understand.

The first to make an offer for her was that same portly Moor who had
sought to purchase the two Nubeans. He rose to scrutinize her closely,
and must have been satisfied, for the price he offered was a good one,
and he offered it with contemptuous assurance that he would not be
outbidden.

"One hundred philips for the milk-faced girl."

"'Tis not enough. Consider me the moon-bright loveliness of her face,"
said the dalal as he moved on. "Chigil yields us fair women, but no woman
of Chigil was ever half so fair."

"One hundred and fifty," said the Levantine Turk with a snap.

"Not yet enough. Behold the stately height which Allah hath vouchsafed
her. See the noble carriage of her head, the lustre of her eye! By
Allah, she is worthy to grace the Sultan's own hareem."

He said no more than the buyers recognized to be true, and excitement
stirred faintly through their usually impassive ranks. A Tagareen Moor
named Yusuf offered at once two hundred.

But still the dalal continued to sing her praises. He held up one of her
arms for inspection, and she submitted with lowered eyes, and no sign
of resentment beyond the slow flush that spread across her face and
vanished again.

"Behold me these limbs, smooth as Arabian silks and whiter than ivory.
Look at those lips like pomegranate blossoms. The price is now two
hundred philips. What wilt thou give, O Hamet?"

Hamet showed himself angry that his original bid should so speedily have
bee