Rose-lipped reader, believe it so, Perkyn Pastor an undivided glory.

nor allow

The hour had come. I watched the old Armenian, who quietly turned the mare, and rode up, gun in hand, to the Arabs.

"Strike for your altars and your fires,"

shouted I from the summit of MacWhirter.

But the old gentleman was actually parleying with the foe, was palpably taking snuff-a Napoleonic trait-upon the eve of battle. The conversation was held in a low tone, and without any violent demonstrations. There was even laughter; and when the Commander, who had been listening from a proper distance, came up shaking and rattling, and more heroic than ever, I felt a melancholy reaction, and knew that all was

over.

The disputed camel was unloaded, and after the Bedoueen had assisted in placing his load upon another beast, they graciously exchanged salaams with the Armenian Nestor, and with Mohammad, who wore the happy air of a victor, and slowly retreated, leading the camel with them.

Rose-lipped reader-but what could I do? Nothing was said. What could be said? Had we not "lost the race we never ran ?" Could I ever

G

stand again at the tomb of Richard? Could I ever again look Perkyn Pastor in the face?

We plodded on. But I stole another glance at Khadra. In the sunset, her dreamy eyes still roamed the horizon, and their soft light overflowed me with forgetfulness and dreams.

CHAPTER XVII.

QUARANTINE.

A GAY cavalier dashed toward us. It was a cool, bright day. Khadra was chatting briskly, and her camel driver sang more sadly than ever.

Our gay escort caracolled around us as we advanced, chasing young and old from our path, and the people stared at us through the cracks of their doors, as if Death on his horse, with a pale procession of sorrows, were passing by, and not immortal young Howadji, and the beautiful Khadra. Looking at her and at them, Syria vanished, and I was attendant upon superb Godiva, riding through hushed Coventry.

Presently, from among green trees, a vast wall rose against the sky. The sight kindled our gay cavalier, who plunged his spurs more deeply into his horse, and danced around us with greater delight. At the same moment he pointed eagerly at the

wall shining in the sun, and expressed his satisfaction in excited Arabic.

"This is the Dragoman of some Pacha," I said to myself reflectively, "who inhabits yonder spacious castle, and who bids us partake of his magnificent bounties."

Certainly," I said aloud to the Commander; "tell him we will avail ourselves of the Pacha's gracious hospitality—”

"Sir," returned Golden Sleeve.

What is the function of this individual?" I continued in the Ercles vein, for the castle and attention seemed to be of that character.

He is the Quarantine Guard," thunder-clapped the Commander.

As Howadji journeying from Cairo, we were ex-officio infected with every mortal disease, and hence the great yellow wall before us. It was the Prison of the Quarantine, which is the only method of Christian martyrdom at present legalised by the the Prophet's vicar.

It includes the most loathsome incarcerationseparation from all but those victims who chance to be of your own party-the constant attendance of a "Guardiano," who, with a long pole, shoves away from you every one who would wish to shake you by the hand, so that you shall meet your friend

or brother, with whom you parted years ago in your native land, and who comes full of all happy or mournful tidings out of the bosom of your family, but who must shout at you from a distance, and although living within the same wall with you for days, never touch the hem of your garment. The rack of fleas, the sting of every kind of vermin, the periodical suffocation by assafetida, are only the garnishing horrors of this martyrdom. You lose by it six or eight weeks of your five oriental months. It is the true Plague.

I knew all that. But I had not as yet, practically experienced a quarantine. I was the child who has not yet burnt his finger, and I wanted to thrust it in. I really did wish to try if the quarantine was so very bad; and I rode up to the portal with a good grace, and passed into the court with the air of a man who arrives to taste the magnificent hospitalities of the Pacha.

It was a huge square court, with a clumsy well in the centre. The ground was hard and gravelly, and all around the sides were rough, plastered walls, tauntingly high, and glaring in the sun. A few squalid, miserable figures stood about the court, vacantly staring at us as we entered; each of them in charge of a Guardiano, with a long pole, which was occasionally levelled to fence them off