e of a sudden very grave.

"He lies at the gate of death," was his answer. "The doctor doubts if
he will pass this night; but if he sees to-morrow's light, it means
that he will live, in sh' Allah!"

"May Allah preserve the poor young man!" said Mitri, and resumed the
controversy.

But Iskender heard no more. He slipped out, unobserved, into the
night, and stole down the sandy road through cloud-like orange-groves
to where the sandhills rolled beneath the stars.

CHAPTER XXV

Iskender walked all round the low garden-wall of the Mission, staring
through the feathery cloud of the tamarisks at the upper windows of the
house, till he saw a light in one of them, when he sat down on his
heels and watched it doggedly. He feared the blame which would attach
to himself were the Emir to die; still more the reproaches of his own
mind; but above all things he was conscious of a return of his old
devotion to the fair-haired stranger. He recalled the Frank's many
kindnesses--in particular the splendid paint-box, which remained
Iskender's own--and, sobbing, prayed from the heart that he might live.
The hooting of an owl, or the bark of some dog in the distance, alone
broke the stillness, of which the rustle of the tamarisks seemed part,
so faint and vague it was. At moments, looking up at the stars, he
could have deemed them living creatures, for they seemed to throb in
time with his own grief.

He knew not how long he had sat there in the darkness unafraid, when
the light in the room was moved. A chill smote his heart. He jumped
over the wall and drew nearer, in the hope to catch some word of what
was going on in there. Inside the hedge of tamarisk the air was sweet
with flower scents, which floated thick and separate on the still air,
like oil on water. He came beneath the window. The light was once
more steadfast; so again he sat down on his heels and waited.
Presently the tamarisks were distributed by a cold breeze; they sighed
aloud; the stagnant perfumes of the garden were confused and scattered;
a whiteness came upon the wall before him, and the windows in it gave a
pallid gleam. Having no desire to be caught lurking there by one of
the servants, he was on the point of departing, when the light in the
window was again moved, and while he stood in wonder what such
movements of the light portended, a door close by him opened, and the
Sitt Hilda came out into the garden. She was weeping silently, with no