As soon as I had breakfasted I went over to the steward's apartment, where Selim was lodged, to fetch my long, "protector," for he only I determined should go with me to the tomb which the fakir had promised to show me. I found the portly Negro none the worse for his experience of the day before, but very anxious as to my proposed expedition, in regard to which Selim had hinted vague dangers, adding he was under a solemn oath not to reveal its destination or purpose.

"Have no fear,' I said. "Nothing will befall us."

"You think so, because you have no faith in the portent of the eclipse. Give it up, I beg you, Effendi," said the unwieldy creature with affectionate anxiety.

"Don't urge me, for I can't. I have given my word that I will go, and I must keep it."

"Then at least leave Selim here."

"What? I stay here!" cried that hero, before I could speak. "I, the protector and guardian of the Effendi, let him go alone? No, I cannot fail in my duty; I will accompany him through all the dangers on earth or sea. I will fight for him with dragons, serpents and scorpions. I. am ready to annihilate lions and panthers "

"But just now you have only to hold your tongue," I interrupted. "There is no question of serpents, or lions, or panthers. Therefore, you must leave your gun here, and take only your knife."

"But we do not know yet where we are going! Maybe we shall go into the desert, near the den of a lion, and ---"

"Nonsense! No lion will hurt you; he would not get a chance, for as soon as you saw him you would run away so fast he could not catch you," I laughed.

"Effendi, what an opinion you have of the truest of all your friends!" he said, reproachfully. "I am Selim, your protector, and would stand and fight for you if all the men and all the wild beasts in the world attacked you. You misunderstand me, therefore I pray that Allah will send us danger, great danger, in which I can prove what heroic things I would do for you." He stuck his knife in his belt as he spoke, took three torches and a strong rope and we started.

The fakir had sent a boy to fetch me, instead of letting me come alone to meet him, and this boy was waiting outside. He led us at a rapid pace over the ground, and when he came to a slight elevation beyond the village he paused, and pointing to a distant rock, said: "Yonder by that ancient grave the fakir waits thee in prayer."

I started to take out the backsheesh I meant to give him, but he spit at me, and, crying: "Keep your piaster. How could I soil my hands with the gold of an unbeliever" and ran away.

Considering the clamor for backsheesh from Christian travelers all over Egypt this was unexpected, but the boy was gone, and without stopping to consider his behavior, we hastened on to the tomb. The fakir heard us coming and turned toward us. Extending his hand he said: "Welcome, Effendi! Allah illumine thy steps to the goal of joy and blessedness. Thou hast kept thy word, and I will keep mine. Thou shalt see the ancient kings; sleeping with their wives, daughters and kindred about them. Follow me."

We proceeded directly out toward the desert, the fakir taking such long strides that I had to make an effort to keep up with him. We thus very quickly reached the hill where we had been yesterday, and the hole from which the steward had escaped. Falling behind a moment to Selim, whose long legs had failed to keep up the pace, I warned him not to speak of having been there before, and had only succeeded in doing so when the fakir turned to me, saying: "Here is the entrance to the tomb."

"Here!" I exclaimed. "Surely there are no rocky tombs here."

"Who has mentioned rocky tombs? This is the entrance to a subterranean passage to the tomb. The opening is concealed. Follow me."

We started up the hill, but I stopped him. There was a smooth track ahead of us, as if a cloth had been dragged up to hide footprints.

"Some one has been here before us," I said, "a garment has been dragged along to wipe out the footprints. That looks suspicious."

"Does it?" laughed the fakir. "Not to me; for I came here to see if it was all right this morning early."

"But it looks to me as if several feet has passed this way." "O Mohamed! Who could tell the difference between one man's steps, or many, in this sand?"

"I could, for I have lived with the red men, whose life depends on their ability to read in such things the number of their foes."

"There is no question here of foes. I went up and down twice, that is why you see the prints of two men's feet. Do you think I would betray my secret to any one?"

Feeling half ashamed of my unfounded suspicions I started up the hill. When we reached the top the patriarch paused, scanned the horizon carefully, then said: "There

is no one in sight; we shall not be discovered," and stooping down began to dig away the sand, which was very light. I had thrown my suspicions to the winds, and was all eagerness for the adventure, and even Selim showed no signs of cowardice.

We helped the old man clear away the sand, and saw at the bottom of a hole perhaps three feet deep a flat stone, which we pried up. We then saw before us a passage, its sides bricked, and just wide enough to allow a man to crawl through.

"This is the entrance," said the fakir, once more scanning the horizon for a possible observer. "Who will crawl in first?"

"You, of course, since you know the way," I replied, and he immediately complied. After we had proceeded perhaps eighteen feet I felt the passage widen, and the fakir ordered us to light a torch. I complied, and found ourselves in a small chamber, in the corner of which was an opening which seemed to dive straight into the earth, high enough for a man to stand upright. "We must descend this shaft," said the fakir.

"Down there!" growled Selim. "Are there stairs?"

"No."

"Where were these mummies' wits? Couldn't they have provided us with stairs to visit them, or at least a ladder?" said this queer person. "Must I risk breaking all my arms and legs?"

"Not at all; one would think you were a centipede, Selim," I replied. "There is doubtless a way of getting down."

"There are square footholds in the sides of the shaft, where the feet are set," said the fakir. "They are not two feet apart and make a perfectly safe stairway."

"What sort of air is there down below?" I asked.

"Quite as good as here; there must be air holes which I have not discovered. Perhaps your keen eyes will find them." The fakir said this in his usual tone, yet with a slight emphasis, which I remembered later, and realized his irony.

"Who will go first?" he asked again.

If he had any idea of betraying us it could only be prevented by keeping between him and the opening, so again I replied he should precede, being our leader. So the fakir led the way, Selim followed, and I came last. The rope was fastened around the saintly patriarch, then halfway up its length was tied around Selim, and the other end I knotted around my hips. It was hard to hold a lighted torch, and use hands and feet in getting down, and as the fakir needed none, and Selim was afraid to risk carrying one, I was the only man who had a light. The fakir plunged down and was quickly out of sight. Selim felt his way timidly, and I heard him murmur the Moslem's prayer on all occasions: "There is no God save God. and Mohamed is His Prophet." Then I followed, using only the left hand and carrying the torch in my right. Not a word was spoken. I counted the steps; twenty holes down there was a gallery, which I tried to investigate, but my torch was too feeble to lighten the profound gloom.

I passed the gallery, and had gone down four or five steps more when I heard a laugh, which echoed horribly in the narrow passage, sounding like a troop of demons. Then I heard the words: "So the Christian dog goes down to eternal silence. Languish in the bowels of the earth, and awaken in everlasting fire!" I looked up and saw two faces, so illumined by the torch that I recognized them: It was the old fakir and the "muza'bir!" We had been entrapped; we were to starve to death!

"Selim, come up, quick," I cried, beginning myself the

ascent, but Selim did not obey me, and the rope held me back.

"Do you know me?" cried the juggler. "You wanted me imprisoned, and now you are captured, and no one will deliver you."

"No one," agreed the pious fakir. "You began to mistrust me, and yet were stupid enough to follow me. I belong to the holy Kadis, and to avenge the Mokkadem I have waited for you in Maabdah. Now die like a dog, giaour."

I did not answer, for deeds, not words would save us. I took out my knife and cut the rope that bound me to Selim. Then I drew my revolver, but, unfortunately, our foes could see my movements by the light of my torch, and suddenly both faces disappeared, while the voice of the "muza'bir" called: "Shoot, you dog, and see if you can hit us."

In the darkness I could hear the sound as if heavy stones rubbed against each other. Taking my revolver in my teeth I hastened upward, and found the gallery completely closed by a great rock, against which I heard another shoved to brace it. We were prisoners!

Selim, who could not see what had been going on, had heard the voices, and now called up: "Effendi, to whom were you speaking there? Why did you shoot? Has anything happened?"

"Yes, unfortunately, something has happened. We are taken prisoners."

"Taken prisoners! By whom?

"By that holy old fakir."

"How can that be? He is below me."

"No, he has untied the rope and come up by some other way; he has closed up the passage with a stone, and we can't get out; I can't move the stone."

"Allah il Allah!" he cried, in a horror-stricken tone. "Let me come and help you."

"No, only one person can stand here; I'll try again, only come nearer, so if I succeed it will not fall on you with such force."

I mounted another step, and tried to dislodge the stone with amy shoulders, but in vain; and I had to give up the attempt because the bricks under my feet began to weaken.

"O Allah, O mercy, O compassion, we are lost!" groaned Selim. "We shall perish in this hole, and no man will know where our flesh lies, or our bones have fallen."

"Now, don't wail. We are not helpless," I said. "There may be a way out below; we must go down and look for it."

"And get deeper into misery? No, let us go up."

"Give me the end of the rope I cut; I will tie myself to you again, and we will go down, down I say, at once. Go yourself slowly, and I will follow."

Selim descended carefully, and counting his steps; as he reached the thirtieth he cried: "Effendi, I feel solid ground beneath my feet."

"Wait; I will come."

He was right; we stood on a square of earth, and in the middle was a flat stone. "See," I cried, "there is a stone precisely like the one above."

"What does it matter?" wailed the hero. "We are lost, and shall never look on the light of day again. Life is so beautiful; who could have believed that it would have ended so quickly, so dreadfully?" And sitting down, he wept loud and bitterly. I thought it best to let him have it out with himself, so to speak, and did not attempt to console him. Instead, I knelt, and dug away the sand around the stone; it was light and dry. I lifted the stone, and saw again brick walls around a narrow passage precisely like the one at the entrance.

Selim's loud sobbing died away, and I heard a sigh, weak, yet unmistakable.

"Did you sigh, Selim?" I asked.

"No; you only thought you heard me."

"Not at all; it was perfectly distinct -- there!" Again I heard the heavy sigh. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, Effendi, I heard it plainly." "It comes from this sand," I cried.

"Sand has no voice."

"Indeed it has, but not like this. I have heard the desert singing and sighing in the night as the winds swept over it, but this is not like that tone. It comes from this passage!" I added, in amazement, as the sound was again repeated.

"Right, very right," assented Selim, rushing into a corner.

"What on earth are you hiding from? There are human beings here," I cried.

"Human beings! No; they are spirits of the lost."

"Hush, you coward! Stay here and whimper, if you choose; I am going to save myself. Besides, there may be some one else imprisoned here, and nearly dead. If we delay it may be too late. I am going down; stay here if you like."

"No, no, no; I won't stay in this awful place alone; I will go with you," he cried, and we began the descent of the second passage.

After going down ten steps we came to solid ground, and, on lighting the torch, saw a walled chamber, and against its side leaned a form, which raised its arms and cried: "Have mercy! Let me out, and I will not betray you. I have already promised you this."

"Don't be afraid," I said. "We are not come to torture you."

"Not to torture me? Are you not Abd el Barak's men, who has sentenced me to die?"

"No; Abd el Barak is my deadly enemy, and has caused us to be captured here. You are starving; how long have you been here?"

"Four days; I have licked the drops from the wet wall, so I am not thirsty, but I long for food."

The steward had provided us with dried meat, bread, and dates, which we shared with the young man, Selim as gladly as I; for, though a coward, he was kindly. The food revived the poor fellow, and he asked our name.

"First tell us who you are, and why you are here," I said.

"I am called Ben Nil, the son of the Nile, for my father is a pilot, and I was born on the river. I was imprisoned here in punishment for refusing to kill a man whom the Kadis wished put away." "

Who was he?" I asked.

"A stranger, a Christian from America," answered the youth. "He had done my grandfather a great service, and I would not kill him."

"I am he," I said, to his unspeakable surprise. "You are suffering for my sake, and I will do my best to save you."

"Effendi, you need help now as much as I, but my grandfather was the pilot of the slave-ship whom you helped get free that night when the Reis Effendina captured her. I have only paid a little of our debt in refusing to take your life," he said.

"Keep up heart, Ben Nil," I replied. "I feel sure we all shall see the sun again."

Contents

Introduction