owling looks--for the people of the Soudan were, naturally enough,
filled with indignation against all Europeans, and especially against
the British, at that time.

The glance did not improve Miles's state of mind, nevertheless he forced
himself to look at the ground with an utterly expressionless face, as he
held the Mahdi's stirrup. He received a slight push from his master's
foot instead of thanks when he had mounted, but Miles resolutely kept
his eyes on the ground and restrained his rising wrath, ignorant of the
fact that the Mahdi wished to point out the direction in which he was to
run.

A smart blow from the riding-switch on his naked back aroused him to his
duty, and caused a slight laugh among the onlookers.

Never before, perhaps, was the Mahdi so near his end as at that moment,
for, as our hero felt the sting, and heard the low laugh, all the blood
in his body seemed to leap into his brow, and the lance of office
quivered as his hand tightened on it. The fact that two guards with
drawn swords stood at his side, and that their weapons would have been
in his heart before he could have accomplished the deed, would probably
have failed to restrain him had not his pride of purpose, as we may
style it, come to his aid. He looked up, with a frown indeed, but
without uttering a word. The Mahdi pointed along one of the streets,
and Miles instantly bounded away--heartily glad to be able to let off
his superfluous feeling in violent action.

For several hours his master kept him running--evidently on purpose to
try his powers, as a jockey might test the qualities of a new horse,
and, strong though he was, the poor youth began at last to feel greatly
distressed, and to pant a good deal. Still his pride and a
determination not to be beaten sustained him.

At one point of his course he was passing a band of slaves who were
labouring to lift a large beam of wood, when the sound of a familiar
voice caused him to look up, and then he saw his friend Jack Molloy, in
costume like his own, _minus_ the fez and tippet, with one of his great
shoulders under the beam, and the sweat pouring down his face.

"Hallo, Miles!" exclaimed the seaman.

But our hero did not dare to pause, and could not speak. His glancing
aside, however, had the effect of causing him to stumble, and, being too
much exhausted at the time to recover himself, he fell heavily to the
ground. As he slowly rose up, half-stunned, the Mahdi could scarcel