_O. von Felsen-Schvoenig._” To read and digest the note took some little time; but the Arabs are never in a hurry, and Mustaph waited with calm patience. Anne sank on to a chair, with her back to the man and her elbows resting on the pillows of the bed. ‘To be, or not to be?’ that was the question which sent a thrill of agitation through her being. Whether it were better for Tom to remain as he was—a helpless imbecile—or to undergo the chance of being cured. Cured! The very word set all her pulses throbbing, and made the blood course rapidly through her veins. To have his intellect restored, to be clothed and in his right mind, like the demoniac of old, to be a help and a comfort instead of the burden he ever remained! For she knew he was a burden, in spite of the assurances she always gave herself to the contrary. His condition necessitated more attention than she was ever able to give him, even though he was watched by some obliging friend when she was away. Cured! As in a vision she saw him growing up beside her, his form no longer delicate and shrunken, but strong and stalwart with the vigour of youth; his face glowing with intelligence instead of that vacant expression which seemed to cleave her heart in twain. If he were but healthy like other boys, her life would be a very paradise on earth, for it but needed this to complete her happiness. A mist rose before her eyes as she gazed at the poor old-young face, the large forehead which betokened not intellect but idiocy, the heavy eyelids closed in sleep. “Oh, Christ, dear Lord, help me!” she whispered, clasping her hands in an agony of indecision. She knew not what to do for the best. Mustaph, noticing her agitation, rose from the floor and approached with wonder. “_Malaish!_” he exclaimed, using the Arab term of condolence. “What matter? _Mafîsh._ There is nothing.” “The cave,” she said, raising her head. “The Cave of Elijah. You have been there. Is it true that people are cured?” He stared at her interrogatively, scarcely understanding her words. “_Fen_—where? The cave? Boy go? _Haiwa._ Yes, varry good.” Then he nodded vigorously, meaning to say that he knew all about it now. “Tell her Highness I have made up my mind to try with Tom,” Anne said, deciding suddenly. “I will be ready at the time she says—before sunset. But I suppose I had better write it.” And finding a pencil, she scribbled the message on the reverse side of the Princess’s note. She felt as if she had cast the die. Nodding and smiling, the Arab departed, and she was left to herself again. The boy was still asleep, with a look almost of babyhood on his face. If he suffered in any way by his visit to the cave she was certain she would never forgive herself; but the temptation to make the trial was too great to be passed by.