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Show ing, perhaps, or getting ready to come out. He waited quietly. Presently he saw her figure no more. But the light still burned. He had finished his cigarette. He threw the end of it away. Then he opened his mouth and began to sing, or whine, the curious Eastern song with which he had serenaded Lady Wyverne before he had ever spoken to her. It was a song about a Caid who loved a dancer, and who gave her many presents, and silver bracelets, amulets and a hedgehog's foot and a powder haschish. Whenever she danced he there to watch her, and at last played upon the derbouka before the city, and she danced to his tune. when he had finished he gave the derbouka to hang upon the wall of her little room as a token of her The Spahi looked at the light, smoked another cigarette. Still she did not come. Then he sang the chanson des vacances of the children of the Zibans ; and then he sang the song of the Great Mozabite whose love demanded as a marriage-gift the head of Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet. The Mozabite murdered Ali in the mosque with a sabre, and since that time the Mozabites are hated by all the other Arabs. When he got to the last verse, the hatred verse, Benchaftlal raised his voice, lifting his head up. In the silence that followed heard the noise of the river rushing through the gorge. His blood was on fire, and there was a noise in his brain-or so he fancied-that seemed to be caused by the surging of this blood on fire through his veins and arteries. The motionless trees gered him. The white road, |