The Portland daily press., 1897-11-03
(Chapter II continued. J

Father, l counted it up. Every mile OF
thosdistance l counted it. And I reckoned
every hour since my wife's letter had
been written against the progress and
period of my boys disease. So many days
since the date of the letter, and Noel had
been ailing and i'll SO many days before
that. The gross sum of those days was
so much, and in that time the affection,
If it ran the course [ looked for, must
have reached such and such stage.
While 1 toiled along over the broad wastes
OF that desolate land / seemed to know at
any moment what the condition must De
at the utmost and best of my boy in his
bed at home
Then L reckoned the future as well as
the past. So many days it would ia Ike
me to ride to Tangier, so many hours to
cross from Tangier to Cadiz, SO many
days and nights by rail from Cadiz t o
London The grand total of time past
since my dear Noel first became unwell
and of time to come before | could reach
his side, would be SO much. What would
his condition be then? / knew that also.
1t would be so and Sc.
Thus, step by step I counted it ali up.
| The interval would be long, very long,
| between the beginning of the attack ana
my getting home, but not too long for
my hopes. All going well with me l
should still arrive in time. Ii the5dlsease
had taken an evil turn my boy might
perhaps be in it's last stage. But then [
would be there and [ could save him. The
operation which had spent five years of
my life to master would bring him back
from the gates of death itself.
Father, 1 had no doubt of that, and
I had no doubt of my calculations.
Lying here now it seems as If the fiends
themselves must have shrieked to see me-
in that far-off land gambling like fool
on the certainty of the life l loved, and
reckoning nothing of the hundred poor
chances that might snuff it out like a
candle. Call 1t frenzy, call it madness,
nevertheless it kept my heart alive and
sa we'd me from despair
But o, the agony of my impatiencel If
any thing should stop me nowi Let lie
be one day later, only one, and what
might not occurl Then how many were
| the dangers of delay ! First, there was
| the possibility of illness overtaking me.
My health was not better, but worse than
when l left home. l was riding from
sunrise to sunset and not sleeping at
nights. No matterl put ali fear from
that cause away from me. Though my
limbs refused to bear me up, and under
| the affiiction of my nerves my muscles
lost the power to hold the reins, yet if !
could be slung onto the back of my horse
l should still go on.
But then there was the worse danger of
coming into collision with the fanaticism
of the people through whose. country 1 had
| to pass. l did not fear the fate of the
American, for l could not be guilty OF
his folly. But remembered the admis-
sion of the English Consul at Tangier
| that stranger might offend the super
stitions of the Moslems unwittingly; !
| recalled his parting words of counsel
| spoken half in jest, keep out of Moor
ish PRISON. and the noisome dungeon
into which the young Berber had been
cast arose before my mind in visions of
| horror.
| What precautions took to avoid these
dangers of delay would be long and
foolish story. Also, it would be a mean
and abject one, and [ should be ashamed
to tell it. How l saluted every scurvy beg
gar on the way with the salutation Of
his faith and country; how [ dismounted
as | approached 8 town or Il village, anC
only returned to the saddle when l haC
gone through it; how l uncovered my
head-in ignorance of Eastern custom
as went by a saints house, and how al
| length remembering the Jewish banker
who was beaten) took off my shoes anc
| walked barefoot as passed in front of a
| mosque.
Yes, it was 1 who paid all this needless
homage; l whose pride has always beer
| my bane; | who could not bend the knet
to be made knight; L who have fell
| humility before no man. Even SO it was
In my eagerness, my impatienee, my
| dread of impeachment on my journey homt
to my darling who waited for me there
l was studying the faces and grovelline
| at the feet of that race of ignorant fanat
| les.
But the worst'of my impediments wer,
within my own camp. The American
was right. The Moor cannot comprehend
q disinterested action. My foolish
| homage to their faith awakened the sus
| picions of my men. When they had trieG
in vain to fathom the meaning Of it, they
agreed to despise me. did not heed theil
contempt, but l was compelled to takt
note of its consequences. From being my
servants they became my masters. Wher
it pleased them to enoamp I had to rest
| though my inclination was to go on, anC
only when it suited them to set out agair
| could resume my journey. In vain die
protest. and plead, and threaten. Th,
Moor is often brave man, but these meI
were gang of white livered poltroons
and a blow would have served to subdu,
| them. With visions of a Moorish prison
before my eye l dared not to raise my
hand. One weapon alone could I, in ny
own cowardice, employ against them
| brides, brides, brides. Such was the sole
instrument with which / combatted theil
laziness, their dupIicity, and their deceit
Father, L was pitiful sight in my weak
ness and my Impotence. We had not
gone tar out Of Fee when / observed tha
the man Larby was at the heels of ou1
company. This alarmed me, and l calleC
to my guide.
Alec" said. "who is that evil look
ing fellow?''
Alec threw up both hands in amaze
ment. 'Evil-looking fellow" he cried
God be gracious to my father who doe
my lord mean? Not Larby; no, no
Larby. Larby is-a good nan. He lives IL
one of the mosque houses at Tangaaq
The Nadir leased it to him, and he keep
his shop on the Sok de Barra. Allal
bless Larby! Should you want must
should you want cinnamon, Larby is tn
man to sell to you. But sometimes h'
guides Christians to Fee, and then hi
brother keeps his shop for him"
But why is the man following us?"
asked.
My sultan" said Alee "am not tell