"With the aid of the saint I have prevailed against the foulest treason ever committed by a subject against his trusting lord. The bribed hosts of Hassan Abdullah, which were to sack Rome, are scattered in flight. The attempt upon my own life has been prevented by a miracle from Heaven. But--what of these dead?" Odo of Cluny approached the Senator of Rome. "The awful horror which has gripped the city is passed. Christ rules once more and Satan is vanquished. This is a matter for your private ear, my lord." Odo pointed to the kneeling form of Tristan, who was supporting Hellayne in his arms, trying to soothe her troubled spirit, to dispel the memory of the black horrors which held her trembling soul in thrall. Approaching Tristan, Alberic laid his hand upon his head. "We knew where to trust, and we shall know how to reward! My lords and prelates of the Church! Matters of grave import await you. We meet again in the Emperor's Tomb." Beckoning to his retinue, Alberic remounted his steed, as company upon company of men-at-arms filed past--a host, such as the city of Rome had not beheld in decades, with drums and trumpets, pennants and banderols, long lines of glittering spears, gorgeous surcoats, and splendid suits of mail. The forces of the Holy Roman Empire were passing into the Eternal City. At their head the Senator of Rome was returning into his own. At last they were alone, Tristan and Hellayne. His companions had departed. With them they had taken their dead. Hellayne opened her eyes. They were sombre, yet at peace. "Tristan!" He bent over her. "My own Hellayne!" "It is beautiful to be loved," she whispered. "I have never been loved before." "You shall be," he replied, "now and forever, before God and the world!" The old shadow came again into her eyes. "What of the Lord Roger?" She read the answer in his silence. A tear trickled from the violet pools of her eyes. Then she raised herself in his arms. "I thought I should go mad," she crooned. "But I knew you would come. And you are here--here--with me,--Tristan." He took her hands in his, his soul in his eyes. The sun had risen higher through the gold bars of the east, dispelling the grey chill of dawn. She nestled closer to him. "Take me back to Avalon, to my rose garden," she crooned. "Life is before us--yonder--where first we loved." He took her in his arms and kissed her eyes and the small sweet mouth. A lark began to sing in the silence. THE END WHAT ALLAH WILLS _By Irwin L. Gordon_ _Author of "The Log of The Ark"_ _Illustrated, net, $1.35; carriage paid, $1.50_ Take Morocco for a background--that quaint and mysterious land of mosques and minarets, where the _muezzin_ still calls to prayer at sundown the faithful.