Hence everybody had gone within doors to enjoy the siesta, so that, since landing, the two sailors had not met a living creature; and if the Arabian Nights, which were not translated till a century later, had been known at the time, the Count, without any great effort of the imagination, might have believed himself transported to that city where all the inhabitants had been sent to sleep by a wicked impostor, so complete was the silence around him, while the landscape had the aspect of a desert. To complete the illusion, the breeze had fallen, there was not a breath of air, and the vast expanse of water stretched out at their feet was as motionless as if composed of ice. The Count stopped, pensively gazing with an absent eye at his frigate, which at this distance was scarce as large as a skiff. Michael smoked more than ever, and admired the country with straddling legs, and his arm behind his back, in that position so liked by sailors. "Hilloh!" he said suddenly. "What is the matter with you?" the Count asked him, as he turned round. "Nothing the matter with me, Captain," he replied, "I am only looking at a lady who is coming up here at a gallop. What a fancy to go at that pace in such a heat as this." "Where is she?" asked the Count. "Why, there, Captain," he said, stretching out his hand to larboard. The Count turned his eyes in the direction which Michael indicated to him. "Why, that horse has bolted," he exclaimed, a moment later. "Do you think so, Captain?" the sailor remarked, calmly. "Zounds! I am certain of it. Look, now that she is nearer to us. The rider is clinging despairingly to the mane. The unhappy girl is lost!" "Very possibly," Michael said, philosophically. "Quick, quick, my lad!" the Captain shouted, as he rushed to the side where the horse was coming up. "We must save the lady, even if we perish!" The sailor made no answer; he merely took the precaution of withdrawing his pipe from his mouth and placing it in his pocket, and then he set out at a run behind his captain. The horse came on like a whirlwind. It was a barb of the purest Arab race, with a small head, and legs fine as spindles. It bounded furiously with all four legs on the narrow path it was following, with eyes full of flashes, and apparently snorting fire through its dilated nostrils. The lady on its back, half reclining on its neck, had seized its long mane with both hands, and, half insane with terror, as she felt herself lost, she uttered stifled cries at intervals. Very far in the rear, several horsemen, who formed almost imperceptible dots on the horizon, were coming up at full speed. The track on which the horse was engaged, was narrow and rocky, and led to a precipice of frightful depth, toward which the animal was dashing with a headlong speed.