ly by those signs of dismal life within, Babalatchi entered the
hut, and after some time came out leading with rigid carefulness the
blind Omar, who followed with both his hands on his guide's shoulders.
There was a rude seat under the tree, and there Babalatchi led his old
chief, who sat down with a sigh of relief and leaned wearily against the
rugged trunk. The rays of the setting sun, darting under the spreading
branches, rested on the white-robed figure sitting with head thrown back
in stiff dignity, on the thin hands moving uneasily, and on the stolid
face with its eyelids dropped over the destroyed eyeballs; a face set
into the immobility of a plaster cast yellowed by age.

"Is the sun near its setting?" asked Omar, in a dull voice.

"Very near," answered Babalatchi.

"Where am I? Why have I been taken away from the place which I
knew--where I, blind, could move without fear? It is like black night to
those who see. And the sun is near its setting--and I have not heard the
sound of her footsteps since the morning! Twice a strange hand has given
me my food to-day. Why? Why? Where is she?"

"She is near," said Babalatchi.

"And he?" went on Omar, with sudden eagerness, and a drop in his voice.
"Where is he? Not here. Not here!" he repeated, turning his head from
side to side as if in deliberate attempt to see.

"No! He is not here now," said Babalatchi, soothingly. Then, after a
pause, he added very low, "But he shall soon return."

"Return! O crafty one! Will he return? I have cursed him three times,"
exclaimed Omar, with weak violence.

"He is--no doubt--accursed," assented Babalatchi, in a conciliating
manner--"and yet he will be here before very long--I know!"

"You are crafty and faithless. I have made you great. You were dirt
under my feet--less than dirt," said Omar, with tremulous energy.

"I have fought by your side many times," said Babalatchi, calmly.

"Why did he come?" went on Omar. "Did you send him? Why did he come to
defile the air I breathe--to mock at my fate--to poison her mind and
steal her body? She has grown hard of heart to me. Hard and merciless
and stealthy like rocks that tear a ship's life out under the smooth
sea." He drew a long breath, struggled with his anger, then broke
down suddenly. "I have been hungry," he continued, in a whimpering
tone--"often I have been very hungry--and cold--and neglected--and
nobody near me. She has often forgotten me--and my sons are dead, and
th