“I would go to one place,” exclaimed Mohammed. Ibrahim whispered to Girzilla’s father: “What would become of your harem?” “I will go,” said Sherif el Habib, with enthusiasm. “No, no, no!” interrupted Max, excitedly, “it would never do. Both the illustrious Sherif el Habib and Mohammed have too much to lose.” “Do you think we value our possessions more than principle?” “Not at all; but it would be mighty inconvenient to lose all, and perhaps your lives as well. Let me go to Kordofan.” “You?” “Yes; I can talk--why, great Cæsar! I’d just glory in the adventure.” “But you are not of our faith.” “So much the better. I am an American, and every body will know that the cause is a good one if an American takes it up.” “Go, my son, and may Allah bless you!” “May I not go to Senaar?” asked Ibrahim. “What do you know about revolutions?” asked his uncle, with almost a sneer. “Not much, unky, and that’s a fact; but Max will tell me what to do.” “Go, then; and if you die, you will know it was for the truth.” “Just so, only we shall not die; at least, not just yet. When do we start, Max?” “At once; earlier, if possible,” and the madcap laughed as he spoke. He walked away to think out his plan of action, and was joined by Girzilla. “You were going without bidding me good-by.” “Yes.” “Cruel brother. Remember, Max, wherever you may be, I am not Kalula to you, but Girzilla.” “I shall never forget it, my true one. May you be happy.” The girl was deeply agitated, for she realized from what Mohammed, her father, had told her, that the mission in which both Max and Ibrahim were to be engaged was one of deadly peril, and that the chances were that neither would ever be seen again alive. But, like the grand old martyrs of olden times, the young men went forth, their lives in their hands, in support of the cause they had espoused. Max was not quite so much in love with his mission when he entered Kordofan alone, and knew that he, in all probability, was in antagonism to several regiments of soldiers and an excited populace. He needed rest. It was a treat to reach a town after all the horrors of caravan life on the desert. Yet his mission was so urgent that he dare not delay more than that one day. He had been provided with a letter of introduction to a merchant with whom Sherif el Habib had done business. That letter opened the merchant’s heart and home, for Max was at once invited to make Shula’s house his home during his stay in Kordofan. Shula was a shrewd business man, a faithful religionist, and a man of wealth, and therefore of great influence. It was not long before he asked Max the pointed question: “Do you believe the Mahdi has come?” Max parried the question in order to find out Shula’s belief. “I believe Mohammed Ahmed to be the Mahdi,” said the merchant. “Do the people of Kordofan believe it also?” asked the American. “Yes; but I hope the Mahdi may not come here.” “Why?” “The people would be disappointed.”