unwaveringly fixed on the distance.

"She shall choose her own death," said the Sheikhel-beled; "and I will
bear word to the Mudir."

"I dine with the Mudir to-night; I will carry the word," said Dicky; "and
the death that the woman shall die will be the death he will choose."

The woman's eyes came like lightning from the distance, and fastened upon
his face. Then he said, with the back of his hand to his mouth to hide a
yawn:

"The manner of her death will please the Mudir. It must please him."

"What death does this vulture among women choose to die?" said the
Sheikh-el-beled.

Her answer could scarcely be heard in the roar and the riot surrounding
the hut.

A half-hour later Dicky entered the room where the Mudir sat on his divan
drinking his coffee. The great man looked up in angry astonishment--for
Dicky had come unannounced-and his fat hands twitched on his breast,
where they had been folded. His sallow face turned a little green.
Dicky made no salutation.

"Dog of an infidel!" said the Mudir under his breath.

Dicky heard, but did no more than fasten his eyes upon the Mudir for a
moment.