Mūshteri and his solitary companion passed out of the city by the light of the morning sun on the day after their release, for except a few faithful friends there were none who cared whither the victims of the Shāh’s displeasure might go, as long as they obeyed the royal edict. The sorrowful exiles rode slowly onward, all unmindful of the beauty of the morning, which was gilding with glory the crowns of the palm-trees. They were leaving behind them all that they held most dear, and going forth into the world with no provision for the future, save the little sum that the generous Behzād had been able to provide. Merely to gratify the unreasonable whim of a royal autocrat, they were thus banished from home and friends, and with hearts full of bitterness they scarcely cared whither they went. They had taken the road to Isfahān, but before they reached the city they saw in the distance an old gray castle which looked as if it had withstood the storms of centuries, and with half a mind to test the hospitality of the occupants, they reined their horses toward it. The castle gates were opened as if some kindly eye had noted their coming, but a little band of horsemen issued therefrom, and, fearing some unfriendly act, the travelers turned away. Their caution came too late, for in a moment more they were attacked and overpowered by the banditti, and being bound they were carried captive to the castle where they had hoped for a kindly reception. Here they were robbed of every article of value upon their persons, and an order was issued for their execution; but behind the Persian hangings of the castle hall there were white hands moving nervously amidst the rich colors of silken embroidery, and a woman’s heart listened breathlessly to the cruel death sentence. Then the beautiful wife of the chief went to her room, and sent a messenger into the council of the banditti with an urgent summons for the presence of her lord. “How canst thou be so cruel?” she demanded with flashing eyes, “hast thou not robbed these illfated youths of every jewel upon their persons— nay hast thou not even taken the most costly articles from their wardrobes? Why shouldst thou add to thy guilt the crime of murder?” Half ashamed of his cruel decree, and wholly afraid of forfeiting the respect of his wife, the chieftain promised to commute their punishment, and hastily returning to the castle hall he demanded that the captives be taken to the desert and abandoned without food amidst its pitiless sands. THE DESERT.