So suddenly had this taken place, that I hardly realized what had happened. I rushed forward to stay the combat, but he mistook the purpose, struck my scimitar with a force that sent it flying through the air, and had raised his staff to deal a second for myself, when brave Lev-el-Hedyd stepped in to save me, and thrust quickly at him. But alas! the Mehrikan warded off his stroke with one yet quicker, and brought his stick so swiftly against my comrade's head that it laid him with the others. When Lev-el-Hedyd fell I saw the Mehrikan had many wounds, for my comrades had made a savage onslaught. He tottered as he moved back into the doorway, where he leaned against the wall for an instant, his eyes meeting ours with a look of defiance and contempt that I would willingly forget. Then the staff dropped from his hand; he staggered out to the great portico, and fell his length upon the pavement. Nōfūhl hastened to him, but he was dead. [Illustration: The Last of the Mehrikans] As he fell a wonderful thing took place--an impossible thing, as I look back upon it, but both Nōfūhl and I saw it distinctly. In front of the great steps and facing this doorway is a large sitting image of George-wash-yn-tun. As the Mehrikan staggered out upon the porch, his hands outstretched before him and with Death at his heart, this statue slowly bowed its head as if in recognition of a gallant fight. Perhaps it was the sorrowful acceptance of a bitter ending. [Illustration: "This statue slowly bowed its head."] _7th July_ Again upon the sea. This time for Persia, bearing our wounded and the ashes of the dead; those of the natives are reposing beneath the Great Temple. The skull of the last Mehrikan I shall present to the museum at Teheran.