Father, they called me a drunkard. I was a drunkard indeed, but I was drunk with blood. The sun had set by this time. Its last rays were rising off the gilded top of the highest minaret in a golden mist that looked like flame leaping out of a kiln. I saw that, as I saw everything, through a palpitating haze. When at length I reached the place where I had left my people I found the horses saddled, the mules with their burdens packed on their panniers, the men waiting, and everything ready. Full well I knew that I ought to leap to my seat instantly and be gone without delay; but I seemed to have lost all power of prompt action. I was thinking of what I wanted to do, but I could not do it. The men spoke to me, and I know that I looked vacantly into their faces and did not answer. One said to another, "Sidi is growing deaf." The other touched his forehead and grinned. I was fumbling with the stirrup of my saddle when the English Consul came up and hailed me with cheerful spirits. By an effort that was like a spasm I replied. "Allow me, doctor," he said, and he offered his knee that I might mount. "Ah, no, no," I stammered, and I scrambled to my seat. While I was fumbling with my double rein I saw that he was looking at my hand. "You've cut your fingers, doctor," he said. There was blood on them. The blood was not mine, but a sort of mechanical cunning came to my relief. I took out my handkerchief and made a pretense to bind it about my hand. Alee, the guide, was at my right side settling my lumbering foot in my stirrup. I felt him touch the sheath of my knife, and then I remembered that it must be empty. "Sidi has lost his dagger," he said. "Look!" The Consul, who had been on my left, wheeled round by the horse's head, glanced at the useless sheath that was stuck in the belt of my jacket, and then looked back into my stupid face. "Sidi is ill," he said quietly; "ride quickly, my men, lose no time, get him out of the country without delay!" I heard Alee answer, "Right--all right!" Then the Consul's servant rode up--he was a Berber--and took his place at the head of our caravan. "All ready?" asked the Consul, in Arabic. "Ready," the men answered. "Then away, as if you were flying for your lives!" The men put spurs to their mules, Alee gave the lash to my horse, and we started. "Good-by, doctor," cried the Consul; "may you find your little son better when you reach home!" I shouted some incoherent answers in a thick, loud voice, and in a few minutes more we were galloping across the plain outside the town.