ose to earth to permit
him to remain in the saddle. The black was taking him the shortest
way, which was no way at all for a horseman, and after the first day's
march the young Englishman was forced to abandon his mount, and follow
his nimble guide entirely on foot.

During the long hours of marching the Hon. Morison had much time to
devote to thought, and as he pictured the probable fate of Meriem at
the hands of the Swede his rage against the man became the greater.
But presently there came to him a realization of the fact that his own
base plans had led the girl into this terrible predicament, and that
even had she escaped "Hanson" she would have found but little better
deserts awaiting her with him.

There came too, the realization that Meriem was infinitely more
precious to him than he had imagined. For the first time he commenced
to compare her with other women of his acquaintance--women of birth and
position--and almost to his surprise--he discovered that the young Arab
girl suffered less than they by the comparison. And then from hating
"Hanson" he came to look upon himself with hate and loathing--to see
himself and his perfidious act in all their contemptible hideousness.

Thus, in the crucible of shame amidst the white heat of naked truths,
the passion that the man had felt for the girl he had considered his
social inferior was transmuted into love. And as he staggered on there
burned within him beside his newborn love another great passion--the
passion of hate urging him on to the consummation of revenge.

A creature of ease and luxury, he had never been subjected to the
hardships and tortures which now were his constant companionship, yet,
his clothing torn, his flesh scratched and bleeding, he urged the black
to greater speed, though with every dozen steps he himself fell from
exhaustion.

It was revenge which kept him going--that and a feeling that in his
suffering he was partially expiating the great wrong he had done the
girl he loved--for hope of saving her from the fate into which he had
trapped her had never existed. "Too late! Too late!" was the dismal
accompaniment of thought to which he marched. "Too late! Too late to
save; but not too late to avenge!" That kept him up.

Only when it became too dark to see would he permit of a halt. A dozen
times in the afternoon he had threatened the black with instant death
when the tired guide insisted upon resting. The fellow was terrified.
He