ing over that wall! . . . Oh, yes, I suppose I forgive you, and all
that. Only I don't want to speak to you, or see your face. You've got
to be a kind of nightmare to me. I daresay I misjudged you; I don't
pretend to understand you; in some ways you behaved quite well and
honestly. Only I can't endure the sight of your face, the sound of
your confounded voice. Get out, I tell you."

But Iskender came close, and, despite his efforts to repel, leaned over
him and whispered in his ear:

"Just listen, sir! I bring her to you where you like--to England?--to
America?--anywhere you tell me. Gif to me a bit of writing, for me to
show to her--you know!--to Miss Hilda, her you luf! The old man is a
fery wicked deffil to wish to sebarate you."

"So you have been listening, have you?" said the Frank, with a
mirthless laugh. "Just as if you hadn't done enough already in the way
of meddling with my affairs. Go! and may I never see your face again.
You will make haste and begone if you're wise. My uncle will be back
in half a jiffy."

But Iskender was too astonished by these words, and the listless manner
of their utterance, to trust his understanding. He went on entreating:

"Just a word in your handwriting, sir, so she can know it's all right.
I bring her to you anywhere at my exbense. God knows I do anything to
blease you! I treat her honourably, sir; I be her servant like as I'f
been yours. All that I told you about me and her was nothin'; I was
just a silly boy. I resbect her, sir; I be her slave; you trust me.
By God, I treat her like as if she was the Blessed Firgin! It will
cost you nothin', sir; I bray you do not doubt----"

But he got no further, being suddenly collared from behind, and beaten
with a cane which stung like hornets. Screaming under the punishment,
and struggling hard, he at last succeeded in breaking away just as
Costantin came running round a corner of the house and terrified faces
appeared at its lower windows. He heard his assailant, panting,
exclaim, "That's the only argument the beggars understand. We learnt
that in India," as he (Iskender) dashed through the hedge of tamarisks
and cleared the low wall at a bound.

With mouth full of sobs, he ran across the sandhills, every salient
object, every shadow, swelling and sinking with the horror of each
breath he drew. It was not that the old afrit, the uncle of the Emir,
had beaten him, nor that his back was sore, but that the Emir