on the spot where he had first seen him, he rushed in upon him and
brought him to the ground. Seeing Ben Aboo down, the black soldiers
fell upon Ali. The brave lad died with a shout of triumph. "Israel ben
Oliel," he cried, as if he thought that name enough to save his soul and
damn the soul of Ben Aboo.

But Ben Aboo was not yet done with his own. The blow that had been aimed
at his heart had no more than grazed his shoulder. "Get up," whispered
Katrina, half in wrath; and while she stooped to look for his wounds,
her face and hands as seen in the dim light of the lantern were bedaubed
with his blood. At that moment the guards were crying that the Kasbah
was afire, and at the next they were gone, leaving Katrina alone with
the unconscious man. "Get up," she cried again, and tugging at Ben
Aboo's unconscious body she struck it in her terror and frenzy. It was
every one for himself in that bad hour. Katrina followed the guards, and
was never afterwards heard of.

When Ben Aboo came to himself the patio was aglow with flames. He
staggered to his feet, still grappling to his breast the money-bags
hidden under his selham. Then, bleeding from his shoulder and with
blood upon his beard, he made afresh for the passage leading to the back
alley. The passage was narrow and dark. There were three winding steps
at the end of it. Ben Aboo was dizzy and he stumbled.

But the passage was silent, it was safe, and out in the alley a sea of
voices burst upon him. He could hear the tramp of countless footsteps,
the cries of multitudes of voices, and the rattle of flintlocks.
Lanterns, torches, flares and flashes of gunpowder came and went at both
ends of the long dark tunnel. In the light of these he saw a struggling
current of angry faces. The living sea encircled him. He knew what had