d not bear the thought of the King touching the
girl's hand. He struggled to prevent himself from crying out at the
false position into which he had dragged her; and yet there was
something so admirably sincere in the King's words, something so
courteous and manly, that it robbed his words of all the theatrical
effect they held, and his tribute to the girl filled even Gordon with
an emotion which on the part of the young nobles found expression in
cheer upon cheer.

Gordon recalled these cheers and the looks of wondering admiration
which had been turned upon Miss Carson, and he grew so hot at the
recollection that he struck the wall beside him savagely with his
clinched fist, and damned the obstinacy of his young and beautiful
friend with a sincerity and vigor that was the highest expression of
his interest in her behalf.

He threw his cigar into the rampart at his feet and dropped back into
the high road. It was deserted at the time, except for the presence of
a tall, slightly built stranger, who advanced toward him from the city
gates. The man was dressed in garments of European fashion and carried
himself like a soldier, and Gordon put him down at a glance as one of
the volunteers from Paris. The stranger was walking leisurely,
stopping to gaze at the feluccas in the bay, and then turning to look
up at the fortress on the hill. He seemed to have no purpose in his
walk except the interest of a tourist, and as he drew up even with
Gordon he raised his helmet politely and, greeting him in English,
asked if he were on the right road to the Bashaw's Palace. Gordon
pointed to where the white walls of the palace rose above the other
white walls about it.

"That is it," he said. "All the roads lead to it. You keep going up
hill."

"Thank you," said the stranger. "I see I have taken a long way." He
put his white umbrella in the sand, and, removing his helmet, mopped
his forehead with his handkerchief. "It is a curious old town,
Tangier," he said, affably, "but too many hills, is it not so? Algiers
I like better. There is more life."

"Yes, Algiers is almost as good as the boulevards," Gordon assented,
"if you like the boulevards. I prefer this place because it is
unspoiled. But, as you say, there is not much to do here."

The stranger's eyes fell upon the Hotel Grande Bretagne, which stood a
quarter of a mile away from them on the beach.

"That is the Hotel Bretagne, is it not?" he asked. Gordon answe