John has forgotten the warning of Mustapha, forgotten all former
experiences. There is a crowd gathering around them, and this is one of
the things he was to guard against, still he pays little attention to
this fact, his mind is so bent upon accomplishing his object.

"Eagerly. Once this night I have risked much to find my mother, and I am
ready to do more."

"Then follow me. Better still, walk at my side, for I see ugly faces
around. You have made enemies, but I will stand between. My garb is
sacred, and they will respect it."

"I am ready, lead on."

What is this that plucks at his sleeve? He half-turns impatiently, and
looks into a face he ought to know full well, but which he now sees with
something of annoyance.

"Ah! professor, is it you? Sorry--in something of a hurry--"

"Hold on; some one wants to see you."

"Have to do later."

"Don't say so, John. Important, I tell you."

"So is this. Good-by."

The professor is not so easily shaken off, but tightens his hold. John