Max never knew, for a cloth was stuffed into the dying man’s mouth, and the bandits commenced a wild, weird dance round the body. Mr. Gordon turned his eyes in the direction of Max and tried to speak, but either the cloth still prevented him or his voice was hushed by the great shadow of death which was over him. A convulsive shudder, and the American merchant’s soul had gone into the “Great Beyond” to join that of his loved wife. Max knew he was now alone. He could not weep. His eyes were hot as burning coals. If only the tear-drops would start, he felt that they would ease him; but no, his eyes were dry and his brain seemed scorched. His tongue began to swell, and when he tried to speak it appeared to fill up his mouth. The torches were extinguished, the place became quiet, and instinct told him that he was alone--alone with the dead. Not a sound disturbed the silence. A horrible thought passed through his burning brain. “What if he were left there to starve to death beside his father’s body?” Madcap Max was not a coward. He had no real fear of death, but he would rather meet the great destroyer on the open field, or in any way but that slow struggle in the solitude of a big grave--a death from starvation. The strongest soul would quake. The hours passed along. Time’s chariot wheels continue to revolve no matter who may wish to stay them. Max began to think of other things besides death. He wondered how he could escape. And if he did, how could he avenge his father’s death? Weary and exhausted, Max at last fell asleep. Youth had conquered. Had he remained awake an hour longer he would have been a raving maniac. Youth asserted itself, and “nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” came to his relief and saved his reason. CHAPTER IV. UNDER THE PYRAMID. Max slept soundly, and for hours did not dream. When the visions of the night visited his brain, they shaped themselves in pleasing form. He saw again the massacre of the Mamelukes, but the sight seemed stripped of its hideousness, and it appeared to Max that the foul murder committed by Mohammed Ali was necessary--that from that murder would spring the regeneration of Egypt. Max saw the flight of Emin Bey, and fancied that the brave Mameluke still lived, and was at the head of an all-conquering army, overcoming French and English and Turk, and proclaiming the freedom of Egypt from foreign rule. And as all this passed before the mental vision of the sleeping American boy, he thought that by the side of the conqueror he rode--not as he was then, a beardless youth, but with bronzed face and flowing beard--a turban on his head, and the sacred carpet of Mohammed carried by his side. Then his vision changed, and he saw his father, not dead, but living, and successful as a merchant. By his side was the wife whose love had been so lavishly given to her husband and her son. The sight of his father and mother brought tears to the dreamer’s eyes, and caused him to wake.