ferocious Kurdish appearance of the stories, and the sight of so many of these big-boned, armed men cowed the miserable Arab, used only to ragged creatures like himself. Nor was his discomfort at all eased by the laughter that greeted his appearance. His guards, too, seemed to regard the affair as a joke. [Sidenote: A CULPRIT] Lady Adela asked the cause of this apparition, and the guard, with the air of one who relates a funny story, told how the captive had attempted to rob one of the villages of Shahr-i-Zur. It appeared that for some reason he had gone to Sulaimania with camels, and having become separated from his mates, was attempting to find his way back to the lowlands _via_ the Khaniqin road. He had begged for, and been granted shelter and food at the house of a Kurdish peasant, and was put to sleep in a shed where a donkey was stabled. He had stolen from here a chain, and having no place to conceal it, wound it round his waist under his shirt, and made off in the dusk of the early morning. The peasant, spying his flight, on principle pursued him, when the accelerated pace and the weight of the chain together shook it from its place, and, falling about his ankles, tripped up the unfortunate Arab. The Kurd caught him, and finding nothing handier than the chain, bound his legs with it and left him to stew in the sun, till two of Lady Adela’s riders coming up, he handed over his capture, and he was brought into Halabja, running at the horses’ stirrups. The chain, retained as an evidence of his guilt, they had hung around his neck; and as he fell upon the floor weeping and trying to crawl to the feet of Lady Adela to kiss them, the company failed to maintain their seriousness, even the stolid Majid Beg joining in the general laugh. An interrogation of the culprit should now have taken place, but no one appeared to know Arabic, except the one word “Uskut” (“Be quiet”), which was used, and not without need, for the fellow’s wails and weeping filled the room. The only remark Lady Adela felt called upon to make was one against her own people, and which was received in good enough part: “What shall be the fate of him who would steal from a Kurd? Are not the Kurds supposed to be the worst robbers on earth? Take him away and loose him.” As they hauled him to his feet and dragged him from the room, his wailing redoubled, for he must have thought he was going to execution instead of to liberty. As he went out, Tahir Beg was announced, and everybody got up on his feet while he entered, slowly followed by a string of people, who found places somehow among the throng. Tahir Beg himself picked his way among them and took a seat upon the mattress near by, urbanely inviting me to a seat beside him, when he commenced a conversation about the merits of French and Persian.