Schwab was by this time a wreck. He lay silent. From the back of the cave came piteous moans from Salathiel, begging to be relieved of his bonds. But Abdul was obdurate; he had enough to do to keep watch on the enemy in front, without having to reckon with the Jew besides, for he knew that Salathiel would stick at no treachery. Impassive as Abdul appeared, he was in reality on the verge of despair. The time was fast approaching when he must choose between starvation and surrender. The choice did not trouble him; he would never surrender to the sheikh of Ain Afroo. What troubled him was the thought that his old enemy would once more triumph; that the vengeance on which he had set his whole mind for years was to be snatched from him. He was bitterly thinking on these things when Schwab rose feebly to his feet. “I can no more,” he said; “I go to yield myself. I muss have somezink to eat. Still am I Jarman sobjeck; zey vill respeck our Kaiser who is in Berlin.” Abdul expostulated, striving in his imperfect English to warn the German of the risk he ran. He knew the sheikh; he was a terrible enemy; he would care nothing who or what his prisoner was. Who in Europe would be any the wiser if in this remote mountainous region a man were slowly done to death in the dungeons of a kasbah? But Schwab would not listen; he craved for food; “Let us eat, for to-morrow we die,” exactly expresses his state of mind. He moved towards the entrance to the cave, shaking off, with a sudden access of rage, Abdul’s detaining hand. The Moor followed him, and stood behind him when Schwab, at the brink of the precipice, waved his hand and shouted— “I give myself opp. But you muss come and fetch me.” But before the echo of his voice had died away, Abdul suddenly pulled him back by main force into the cave. “See! see!” he cried. “Tausend Teufel! Vat shall I see?” returned Schwab. At the point where Abdul now stood the country immediately beneath the cave was invisible, and both the men were screened from the Moors. But the sky was open, and far away in the clear blue to the north-west Abdul had descried a speck which moment by moment was growing larger. “Vat shall I see?” repeated Schwab, vainly looking in the direction of Abdul’s stretched forefinger. “The flying ship!” cried Abdul. “It comes!” “You say zat! Lemme see, lemme see, lemme see!” He roofed his eyes with his hands, and peered into the distance. “Ach! zey veep!” he said, rubbing away the tears that had gathered. “It is for vant of food, nozink else.” He looked again. “Boy, you are right!” he exclaimed, “truly it is ze airship. Zey come for me! Ach! you dirty Moors, now you may go choke! I vizdraw vat I said about give myself opp. I vas not myself; I vas—I vas—anozer man. Ach, boy, so am I indeed hungry!”