at man is an infidel and a dog. Why did he come? Did you show him the
way?"

"He found the way himself, O Leader of the brave," said Babalatchi,
sadly. "I only saw a way for their destruction and our own greatness.
And if I saw aright, then you shall never suffer from hunger any more.
There shall be peace for us, and glory and riches."

"And I shall die to-morrow," murmured Omar, bitterly.

"Who knows? Those things have been written since the beginning of the
world," whispered Babalatchi, thoughtfully.

"Do not let him come back," exclaimed Omar.

"Neither can he escape his fate," went on Babalatchi. "He shall come
back, and the power of men we always hated, you and I, shall crumble
into dust in our hand." Then he added with enthusiasm, "They shall fight
amongst themselves and perish both."

"And you shall see all this, while, I . . ."

"True!" murmured Babalatchi, regretfully. "To you life is darkness."

"No! Flame!" exclaimed the old Arab, half rising, then falling back in
his seat. "The flame of that last day! I see it yet--the last thing I
saw! And I hear the noise of the rent earth--when they all died. And
I live to be the plaything of a crafty one," he added, with
inconsequential peevishness.

"You are my master still," said Babalatchi, humbly. "You are very
wise--and in your wisdom you shall speak to Syed Abdulla when he comes
here--you shall speak to him as I advised, I, your servant, the man who
fought at your right hand for many years. I have heard by a messenger
that the Syed Abdulla is coming to-night, perhaps late; for those things
must be done secretly, lest the white man, the trader up the river,
should know of them. But he will be here. There has been a surat
delivered to Lakamba. In it, Syed Abdulla says he will leave his ship,
which is anchored outside the river, at the hour of noon to-day. He will
be here before daylight if Allah wills."

He spoke with his eye fixed on the ground, and did not become aware of
Aissa's presence till he lifted his head when he ceased speaking. She
had approached so quietly that even Omar did not hear her footsteps, and
she stood now looking at them with troubled eyes and parted lips, as
if she was going to speak; but at Babalatchi's entreating gesture she
remained silent. Omar sat absorbed in thought.

"Ay wa! Even so!" he said at last, in a weak voice. "I am to speak
your wisdom, O Babalatchi! Tell him to trust the white man! I do not
understand. I am old an