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Show Lady Wyverne cowered against the Spahi. To her strung-up imagination it seemed as if the gorge had suddenly let loose a crazy Messiah to point at her a finger of condemnation. She trembled as the strange figure stopped before her, as its shrill cry died away in a childish whimper, and its large, pale eyes rested upon hers in a glance of dull amazement. "What is-?" she began, stammering. "It is only the mad Marabout," said the Spahi, keeping his arm round her protectively. "The mad Marabout?" "He was a rich man of the village of Akbara, the red village, and loved a dancing- girl of Beni- Mora. One night in the week of the races the was murdered for her jewels by a "FCJ·M<.J..o,.;· rider from Touggourt. Since he has been mad. He lives alHe eats only what he is given, what is put into his hand. He sleeps upon the ground. By night he wanders, seeking the · who is dead and calling upon Allah assist him. Allah! Allah!" Suddenly the Spahi lifted up his ~G voice in a powerful cry. Instantly ~~' the Marabout began once more to ' whirl his staff. "Allah!" he shrieked. Allah!'' And he capered along the road towards the desert, striking to right and left of him as if attacking the moonbeams that bore him company. . G "He sees the murderer of Ayesha Bin every ray of the light-giver," said , 1?'1 N the Spahi. "Why not in us, then?" said Lady Wyverne, with a shudder. "Who knows why? Who can read in the soul of the madman?" The Mara bout was lost in the night, and suddenly Lady Wyverne was " |