Talking of murders brings to my mind a double suicide which occurred in the fort. One night I was awakened by a revolver-shot just outside my window. I got up and looked out, but at first could see nothing, so black was the night. After a time, however, I saw a dark mass on the ground and heard a faint moaning. I was about to give the alarm when the sentry passed, stooped down, and uttered an exclamation. Then he went away, to return immediately with others. There was a murmur of voices, and finally they carried something away. My husband was absent, so I was forced to await morning in order to ascertain the facts of the matter. “_Cherchez la femme_” is, alas! a very true adage. The shot was fired by one of our non-commissioned officers, who had killed himself as he walked to and fro in the barrack-yard smoking and talking with his best friend, whom he had just discovered was a successful rival for the heart of the girl he loved and meant to marry as soon as his service was over. Having had suspicions, he had determined to draw the truth from his friend, who was perfectly oblivious of there being any engagement between him and the girl, and confessed freely when pressed that they loved each other and meant to be married later on. Drawing a revolver from his pocket, the unhappy _sous-officier_ cried, “She was to have been my wife!” and, before the other understood what the phrase meant, pulled the trigger and fell dead at his horrified comrade’s feet. The morning after, the friend, another non-commissioned officer, was raving mad. When the girl learnt of the tragedy she had caused, we learnt afterwards, she grew very white, but said nothing. All day she sat silent with fixed eyes, deaf to the reproaches of her parents, who did not spare their abuse. The next morning they found her asleep in death--she had poisoned herself! I noticed here and there whilst riding about the country trees from whose branches hung long shreds of different-coloured cloth. On making inquiries I was told they were marabout, or holy, trees. Each district has one or more of these sacred trees, and to them come all the women to beseech of Allah to grant their prayers. In order to obtain the intercession of the holy tree, they hang pieces of their clothing on the branches, which are sometimes almost entirely covered with coloured rags, fluttering in the breeze, and giving the tree a most curious appearance. A marabout is a saint, or holy man, and it is not given to every man to be a saint, however pious he may be. Real saintship among the Arabs is hereditary, and is one of the three castes of nobility. The sons are heirs to the fathers’ piety, and, though often far from worthy, reap the benefit of their birth-right. This religious nobility has great influence, and can excite or quell revolts, as, Koran in hand, they preach its precepts, often explained to satisfy their own wishes.