As he stalked towards the lonely shrine of Sidi Okbar--a small domed building constructed of sun-dried mud, under which reposed the remains of one of the most venerated of Arab marabouts--he looked a young and muscular son of the Desert, whose merry bronzed face bore an expression of genial good-nature that was unmistakable, notwithstanding the fact that he belonged to the fiercest race of Bedouins. Tall and erect, he strode with an almost regal gait, even though his burnouse was brown, ragged, and travel-stained; the haick that surrounded his face was torn and soiled, and upon his bare feet were rough, heavy slippers, that were sadly the worse for wear. The latter, however, he kicked off on approaching the shrine, then, kneeling close to the sun-blanched wall, he cast sand upon himself, kissed the earth, and, drawing his palms down his face, repeated the Testification. In fervent supplication he bowed repeatedly, and, raising his voice until it sounded distinct on the still air, invoked the blessing of Allah. "O Merciful! O Beneficent Granter of Requests!" he cried; "O King of the Day of Faith, guide us, ere to-morrows sun hath run its course, into the path that is straight, and leadeth unto the _kasbah_ of our enemies of Abea. Strengthen our arms, lead us in times of darkness and in the hours of day, destroy our enemies, and let them writhe in Al-Hawiyat, the place prepared for infidels, where their meat shall be venomous serpents, and they shall slake their thirst with boiling pitch." Startled suddenly by a strange sound, he listened with bated breath. The thought occurred to him that his words might have been overheard by some spy, and instinctively his hand drew from his belt his _jambiyah_, the long, crooked dagger, that he always carried. Again a noise like a deep-drawn sigh broke the silence, and Hatita--for such was the young Arab's name--sprang to his feet and rushed round to the opposite side of the building, just in time to see a fluttering white robe disappearing in the gloom. With the agility of a leopard, the man of the Kanouri-- the most daring of the slave-trading tribes in the Great Sahara--sprang towards it, and in twenty paces had overtaken the eavesdropper, who, with a slight scream, fell to earth beneath his heavy hand. "Rise!" he cried, roughly dragging the figure to its feet, "thou son of Eblis!" Next second, however, he discovered that the fugitive was a woman, veiled, enshrouded in her haick, and wearing those baggy white trousers that render all Arab females hideous when out of doors. "Thou hast overheard my orison!" he cried, raising his knife. "Speak! speak! or of a verity will I strike!" But the mysterious woman uttered no word, and Hatita, in a frenzy of desperation, tore the veil from her face.