“Alas, no! My ancestors did eschew the Mamelukes and joined the Turks.” “Dost thou think Emin’s descendants live?” “As sure as that the sun does shine by day and the moon by night.” “I would that I could find them.” “There is one who could guide thee.” “Where may I find that one?” Max asked, excitedly. “Alas! she is lost.” “She? Is it a woman?” Mohammed turned away his head to hide his emotion. Strong man as he was, his body shook as if with violent ague. The tears streamed from his eyes and dropped like great drops of rain upon the sand. “Tell me,” cried Max, “is she anything to you? Have I offended you? Oh, forgive me if I have.” “I will tell thee.” Mohammed drew Max and Ibrahim away from the caravan, and led them a hundred yards across the sand. He sat down after the manner of his people, and bade them do likewise. When all three were seated he took a small box of salt from his girdle and gave each a pinch. Although Max disliked the flavor of the saline mineral, he knew that the partaking of it was a bond of brotherhood with the Arab. “The story is a long one,” commenced Mohammed, “but I will tell thee only the outlines, and some day, when beneath the palms or under the tent, thine ears shall listen to the whole story. I loved--all young men do--but I loved the most beautiful woman whom the prophet ever allowed to live this side of paradise. She bore me a daughter. On her I lavished all the love of a father. Being a girl without soul”--many of the Mohammedans teach that only man possesses an eternal soul--“I desired she should learn all the mysteries of the ancient Mamelukes. She was a diligent student, and when she reached the age of twelve years she had learned all the symbols and signs of the great brotherhood, and knew how to find any of the true Mamelukes who might still live. But then----” Mohammed again broke down, and the tears fell like rain from his eyes. His agitation was painful to witness, and many times Max wished he had curbed his curiosity and so have saved the aged Arab. Ibrahim was excited. He felt drawn toward the Arab by some unknown and mysterious power. And yet he was impatient. He wanted to hear the whole of the story, and could hardly wait for the Arab’s emotion to cease. “Then my daughter, the pride of my life--by whom I hoped to appease the wrath of my ancient ancestors for deserting the Mamelukes--was stolen.” “Stolen!” “Even so. By the beard of the prophet, methinks my wife must have gone mad.” “And does your wife live?” “She is in yonder caravan.” “Has nothing been heard of her you loved?” “Nothing. She is dead, or taught to call some man lord, and I would rather she be dead than never to see again her father.” The old man ceased. His head was bent down, and he asked to be alone. The young explorers left him and went back to the caravan. Max, ignorant of the laws which govern a traveling harem, had wandered to the place where the women were seated on the ground.