Choked and mad with rage, Gervase for a few moments struggled
furiously as well as he was able with his powerful captor. All
sorts of ideas surged in his brain: the Princess Ziska might, with
all her beauty and fascination, be nothing but the ruler of a band
of robbers and murderers--who could tell? Yet reason did not
wholly desert him in extremity, for even while he tried to fight
for his liberty he remembered that there was no good to be gained
out of taking him prisoner; he had neither money nor valuables--
nothing which could excite the cupidity of even a starving
Bedouin. As this thought crossed his brain, he ceased his
struggles abruptly, and stood still, panting for breath, when
suddenly a sound of singing floated towards him:

"Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily!
A star above
Is its only love,
And one brief sigh of its scented breath
Is all it will ever know of Death!
Oh, for the passionless heart of the Lotus-Lily!"

He listened, and all power of resistance ebbed slowly away from
him; he became perfectly passive--almost apathetic--and yielding
to the somewhat rough handling of his guide, allowed himself to be
urged with silent rapidity onward over the thick sand, till he
presently became conscious that he was leaving the fresh open air
and entering a building of some sort, for his feet pressed hard
earth and stone instead of sand. All at once he was forcibly
brought to a standstill, and a heavy rolling noise and clang, like
distant muttered thunder, resounded in his ears, followed by dead
silence. Then his arm was closely grasped again, and he was led