The Kings of the East: A Romance of the Near Future by Sydney C. Grier - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXIV.
 “THE BITTER CLOSE OF ALL.”

“PHIL, I want a word or two with you.”

“I’m so glad, father. I’ve been longing for a talk. Let us come up to the roof.”

They mounted to the marble terrace, shaded by orange-trees in pots, and Lord Caerleon began to pull off withered leaves as busily as if he had had no other intention in coming. Suddenly he turned to his daughter, who sat watching him patiently, the usual sparkle of fun missing from her blue eyes.

“Phil, the King wants your answer. You promised he should have it the day after the wedding, and that is to-day.”

“I don’t think he ought to take a mean advantage of your having put the wedding forward two days, do you, father? But perhaps it’s as well to get it over.”

“I—I hope you’ve thought what you’re doing, Phil?”

“Well, it hasn’t needed very much thought. I have known all along what I should say.”

“Phil,” Lord Caerleon spoke with tremendous energy, “I am awfully anxious about you. It’s not that I distrust your common-sense, for you are old enough to judge for yourself, nor that I suspect you for a moment of intending to marry for the sake of a crown. But I was talking things over with your mother last night, and she is very much cut up—afraid that your sense of duty will lead you to accept the King. I don’t want to bias you unfairly—we have always prided ourselves on leaving you as free as possible—but you may not have thought what such a marriage would involve. I have tested the delights of royalty, you know, and I felt that I could not stand it alone. With your mother to help me I might have managed it, but—you know how things fell out. I suppose it may be different when you are born to it—I am sure I hope so for the sake of all royal personages—but I am absolutely certain that my little girl could never support such a burden and that of a loveless marriage at the same time. I am only thinking of your happiness, Phil.”

“Oh, father, I know that. But I’m not nearly as good as you and mother think. I never dreamed of accepting the King.”

“Phil, Phil! then why did you take time to consider his offer?”

“Don’t look so miserable, father. Can’t you really guess? It was just after the Queen—Aunt Ernestine, I mean—and I had found out about poor Uncle Cyril. She begged me to keep the King in a good temper, and this was the only way of doing it. And it was quite successful, you see. He has been on his best behaviour the whole time, and everything has gone off well.”

“And now?”

“Oh, now,” Philippa shook herself uncomfortably,—“now I have to pay the bill.”

“I’ll settle matters with the King for you, Phil. It wasn’t like you to do such a thing, and I shall be horribly ashamed, but your intention was good, at any rate.”

“No, father, I won’t put it upon you. I am the sinner, and I must bear the penalty. Yes, I suppose it was rather like doing evil that good might come, wasn’t it? You can’t think how wicked and miserable I have felt, and Usk and—people—have been so horrid, and I couldn’t explain. But you see how it was, don’t you? I would have done anything to help Uncle Cyril.”

“Yes, I see, Phil. But I am more sorry than I can say. I am afraid——”

“Oh, father, don’t say you are disappointed in me, or you’ll break my heart. I don’t care if all the whole world turn their backs upon me, if my own people trust me still—indeed I don’t.”

“Poor little Phil! I hope it mayn’t be as bad as that.”

“Well, I can’t help it if it is. Please let the King come up here, father, if he will have his answer. It’s a horrid thing to do, but it has got to be done. Would you rather have an ambitious daughter scheming for a throne, or a wicked flirt entangling the affections of poor young men and then casting them aside?”

Lord Caerleon’s smile was troubled as he went down the stairs, and Philippa fairly shivered. She felt miserably that her hands were not clean in the matter, and this unprecedented experience handicapped her seriously as regarded the approaching interview. With the instinct of self-protection, she straightened her tie as she heard footsteps ascending the staircase, tucked away a curl that was straggling over her brow, and did her best to look absolutely unapproachable, and even rather indignant at being subjected to such an ordeal. Her blushes she could not control, however, and King Michael, never a very close observer, may be pardoned for reading in them, when he reached the roof, an encouragement to his suit.

“You have sent for me to tell me that you will share my throne, Lady Phil?” he cried, with genuine delight and admiration in his tones.

Philippa’s downcast eyes were raised suddenly, and met his with an indignant flash. It was this young man’s misfortune that he could never forget his throne. “No, certainly not—just the opposite,” she replied promptly.

“But you—you gave me hope.” The King was angry in his turn.

“That I never did. It isn’t my fault if you took it.”

“But why did you ask for time?”

“I didn’t. You insisted I was not to give an answer at once.”

“Oh, you thought you would make a fool of me, Lady Phil?”

It was on the tip of Philippa’s tongue to reply that no such process was needed, but she choked back the retort. “I warned you I should not change,” she said.

“But your taking time to think gave me ground for hope, and all the considerations I have urged in your hearing the last few days could only influence you in my favour. Have you given them due thought?”

“No,” said Philippa, with sudden humility, “I haven’t, because it would be no good. Nothing could ever make me marry you. The truth is that I didn’t refuse you definitely because I thought you would make yourself disagreeable to your mother and Uncle Cyril if I did. I haven’t treated you well, and I am very sorry and very much ashamed.”

“You are willing to take the responsibility of throwing me back into my old way of life, and undoing all the good that the last few months have effected in the kingdom? I suppose you know that I shall go to the bad, and that my ruin and the ruin of Thracia will be on your head?”

“I can’t marry you for the sake of your kingdom.”

“Then I presume that there is nothing left for me to do but to retire as gracefully as I can.”

“Yes, there is something else to do,” said Philippa sharply. “You ought to learn to take a disappointment like a man, not like a baby.”

“Pray continue, Lady Phil. You have the right to rebuke me.”

The sarcastic tone roused Philippa’s anger. “I did treat you badly, and I have told you I am sorry for it,” she cried. “You are very angry with me, but it never seems to strike you how selfish you have been all this time. You know that I don’t care a scrap for you, but you have been trying to get me to marry you by making out that it would be for the good of your kingdom. You know that I should be miserable—perfectly miserable—but you don’t mind a bit.”

“On my honour as a king, I would do my best to make you happy.”

“But you couldn’t; how could you? You aren’t the right person. Besides,” Philippa rushed on hastily, “even if I cared for you I couldn’t bear to be a Queen. I want to be free, to be able to go about and do as I like. It would kill me to be cooped up and never able to get away from people.”

“But that is my life, always.”

“Oh, you like it. You would be miserable if you hadn’t people for ever hanging about and keeping an eye on you. But I have heard all about it from my father, and though I suppose one could just bear it if one loved a person very much, still—well, I don’t love you, you know.”

“It is a happy prospect for me, since you consider me unable to inspire love, and yet think that love alone could induce a woman to take up such a burden.”

“Oh, but you might find some one who liked it, some princess who was born to that sort of thing. Besides, there’s no reason why another person should not love you, though I don’t.”

“Pardon me, Lady Phil—my selfishness?”

“But you must cure that. Don’t talk about going to the bad and ruining your kingdom because I refuse you. It’s a miserable, cowardly thing to say. What has your kingdom got to do with me? It’s yours, not mine, and you are responsible for it. Besides, you can’t pretend that all the interest you have taken in it lately has been for my sake. You know you find it interesting yourself. These last few months you have been a real king, looking into things and forming your own opinion about them, and your people are pleased. You couldn’t go back to your old way of leaving everything to your Ministers if you wished. You are far too fond of power.”

“Indeed, Lady Phil, I believe you are right.” The King looked surprised, and somewhat ashamed. “After what you have said I can’t very well be so selfish as to entreat you again to make yourself miserable for my sake, and I will try to feel glad that I am to be miserable instead. I may be lonely, but at least you will be happy.”

“Oh, no!” cried Philippa, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s too late.”

“Allow me to ask you one question,” said King Michael, judiciously ignoring the tears. “Do you refuse me because you care for any one else? I think I have the right to ask, for if I am so fortunate as to be without a rival, there might be some hope for me in the future.”

“Oh, no!” cried Philippa again. Then, her honest heart fearing that the negative might convey a false impression, she added, in an agony of blushes, “It isn’t fair—it is very unkind of you to ask, because he has never said anything, but there is some one.”

“Thank you. That was all I wanted to know,” said the King. He lifted Philippa’s reluctant hand and kissed it, then took his leave gravely.

“Why, he is a man after all!” said Philippa to herself, as he went down the steps. She was too miserable to rise and look after him, or she would have seen him stop in crossing the court, and address Mansfield, who was driving the gold-fish to distraction by throwing pebbles into the fountain. Wild horses could not have dragged Mansfield from the hotel that morning. He had been bearing from the Chevalier of the duties and emoluments of his new post, but his interest had been so languid that the financier was half offended, and had taken his departure without giving him an invitation to accompany him to Jerusalem, as he had intended. It was a relief to Mansfield to see him go, for he had only one wish, to be left alone. Philippa was to make her decision to-day, and he must know the worst. As he sat upon the edge of the fountain, and took half-hearted shots at the gold-fish, he became aware that King Michael was approaching him, had paused beside him. To triumph over his discomfiture, of course! thought Mansfield, and refused to turn his head and look at his rival.

“Mr Mansfield,” said the King, “I yield in your favour the match at billiards which we were to decide this evening. It was foolish of me to contest the point, for your success was never in doubt. Only,” his tone was so significant that Mansfield glanced up in spite of himself, “let me advise you never again to throw down your cue in disgust before the end. It is not fair to—the game.”

Their eyes met, and Mansfield read the meaning which underlay the words.

“You are a good fellow!” he said hastily. “I ought to have known that your mother’s son couldn’t be a cad.”

“Allow me to thank you in my mother’s name,” and King Michael went on his way, lighting a cigarette with a hand which did not shake more than a very little. Mansfield watched him out of sight, then, waking as if from a dream, mounted the staircase four or five steps at a time, and presented himself suddenly before Philippa.

“I’ve been a regular beast, Lady Phil,” he cried. “Forgive me.”

Philippa raised a tear-stained face with a little start.

“Oh!” she said, “it’s you!”

“You do forgive me, don’t you?” persisted Mansfield.

“But what has it to do with me?” Philippa was on the defensive again.

“I thought you were going to marry the King.”

“But what has that to do with you?” with the faintest suspicion of a smile about the corners of the mouth.

“It’s because I love you. Oh, Phil, you know it, you have known it for a long time. It nearly drove me mad to think I had lost you.”

Philippa drew herself up. “But how do you know you haven’t?” she asked. “And, besides, how can you lose a thing you have never had?”

Mansfield turned pale, but recovered himself promptly. “Are you trying to torment me because you know I care for you?” he demanded.

“I think you are a little too fond of taking things for granted,” said Philippa demurely, looking away from him.

“Well, there shall be no doubt about it in future,” said Mansfield, seizing her hands. “Look at me and tell me whether you care for me or not. Answer me, Phil.”

“Oh, you are hurting my wrists! You are unkind! I—I——”

“If you don’t care for me, it can’t hurt you to look at me and say so. I will let you go the moment you do.”

“It’s very wrong of you to tempt me to tell a story,” said Philippa, with a sigh.

“By all means tell the truth, then.”

“But then you won’t let me go. There! I knew it.”

“Then you do care? Tell the truth, Phil.”

“Just a little.” For one moment the blue eyes met Mansfield’s, then they were hidden; but he was satisfied.

“Ugh! it is cold,” cried Usk, throwing his reins to a gorgeously apparelled groom. “What a blessing to get in out of this beastly wind!”

It was the second of January, and the genial, if unseasonable, weather of the past month had been succeeded by hard frosts and biting blasts, most difficult to cope with in a summer city like Damascus. Usk and Mr Judson dismounted from their horses and entered the hotel, stamping vigorously to warm their frozen feet.

“A cup of Phil’s hottest tea suggests itself as a suitable restorative,” Usk went on. “After all, there are some advantages in her choosing to sit over the stove with her young man instead of facing the wintry wind. Come in, Judson. The family party is assembled, you see. What!” with an instantaneous change of tone as his eye fell upon Philippa’s dark-blue habit and Mansfield’s leggings, “you unblushing pair of frauds, do you mean to say that you went out, after all?”

“Oh, we had a little ride on our own account,” said Philippa calmly.

“Your society is always delightful, Usk, but sometimes it is slightly wearing,” said Mansfield, who had endured a good deal at the hands of his future brother-in-law during the last three days.

“Ah, you lazy beggar, I know now why you cried off going to Jerusalem with the poor old Chevalier! It’s perfectly sickening to see Phil demoralising you with her attentions when she won’t even give her only and frozen brother a cup of tea.”

“Sit still, Phil. I will pour out the tea,” said Lady Caerleon, with a loving pat on her daughter’s shoulder. In Philippa’s love-story her mother renewed her own youth, and in her overflowing happiness forgot to curb the little caressing ways which she had spent her married life in trying to repress as un-English.

“I wonder we haven’t had a telegram from the Chevalier, or, at any rate, from Hicks,” said Mansfield, jumping up to pour some more water into the teapot for Lady Caerleon. “They both promised to let us know how the transfer of power went off.”

“It’s a curious thing,” said Lord Caerleon; “but I met Monckton just now, and he tells me that no telegrams have come from Jerusalem to-day or yesterday, and no letters to-day. They hear that there has been a heavy snowfall in the south, and the Jerusalem trains have not arrived at Jaffa, so the post may be interrupted; but it seems queer that the city should be altogether isolated.”

“I hope poor old Goldberg hasn’t got snowed up on his journey,” laughed Usk. “Hicks has a pretty fair idea of making himself comfortable; but the Chevalier doesn’t know the ropes as he does. Besides, it must be soothing to be able to turn an honest penny out of one’s misfortunes by writing a column or two about them.”

“Perhaps the Roumis have refused to budge, after all,” suggested Mr Judson. “They are quite capable of holding on in spite of their promises, and the provisional government have no means of making them turn out.”

“That would be a deadlock, indeed,” said Lord Caerleon. “We must hope——”

“Why, here’s the Chevalier himself!” cried Usk, and all eyes were turned to the doorway, where the financier stood like a man in a dream, travel-stained and bent, with disordered garments.

“My dear Chevalier!” said Lord Caerleon, advancing and taking him by the arm. “Come and sit down; you are ill—frozen, perhaps.”

“I am not ill, but sick at heart. Yerushalem, de holy city, de choy off de whole earth”—his voice rose into a cry of agony—“iss in de hends off Scythia. O God——” he broke into Hebrew, “the heathen are come into Thine inheritance.... Oh that Thou wouldst rend the heavens, that Thou wouldst come down, that the mountains might flow down at Thy presence!”

“Cyril’s warning!” cried Lady Caerleon.

“Yes,” said the Chevalier heavily, “he warned me, but I did not see. None off us saw. We are helpless widout him. O my broder, de cheriot off Israel and de horsemen dereof! All our labour iss in fain. I hef beggared myself for dis!”

“But how did it happen?” urged Mr Judson. “How was it possible——”

“Dey hed deir plens laid. Eferythink wass arranched beforehend. Dey knoo det widout de Count we hed no head to metch Prince Soudaroff’s. Efen de Armenians—de irreconcilables—hed been squared.”

“But did you escape?” cried Lord Caerleon; “or were you warned in time?”

“I heard de noose yesterday efenink, Mr Hicks and I were delayed in our chourney by de snow—we were fumink to think we hed missed de great ceremony. Den, ess we approached de City on horsebeck, we were met by Levinssohn, one off de profissional gofernment, who hed escaped, and pauced to warn me, lest de enemy should get command of de Goldberg millions by seizink me. He told us de story.”

“Yes, yes, and what had happened?” cried everybody.

“De transfer off power wass made yesterday mornink in proper form, de Roumi gofernor hendink ofer to de consuls de charche off de Holy Places, and to de profissional gofernment de control off de city and de remainink troops. Dere wass great rechoicink—light and gledness, a feast and a goot day. De Letins were celebratink de feast off de Circumecision, de Greeks, busy preparink to fissit Bethlehem for deir Christmas Day, were all widin doors. It iss not known how de disturbance began. I cannot beliefe det my people—but dey hef bitter memories to afenche, and dey hef disappointed me griefously off late. At any rate, de Letins declare det de Chews broke in upon one off deir serfices, and insulted de worshippers. De noose spread like wildfire, de Letins poured from all deir churches and confents, and gadered in de street before de Serai, now become de bureau off de profissional gofernment. De members were all assembled et deir deliberations. Suddenly dey found de buildink besieched, so det dey must needs berricade demselfs in. De consuls, hearink de uproar, ordered de Roumi troops to clear de street and quell de disturbance, but dey hed been got at. Dey refuced to mofe except under de orders off de profissional gofernment, and dose orders it wass impossible to obtain, on account off de mob riotink between. De consuls, attemptink to use deir influence, were insulted and derided. Den de Scythian consul propoced a plen. ‘Dere are here’ said he, ‘two thousand or more Scythian and Thracian pilgrims, who hef all done military serfice and are amenable to discipline. In a quarter off an hour I can assemble dem from de different confents where dey are quartered, and dey will ect ess police under de orders off de consular body, armed wid sticks and such oder weapons ess dey can improfice.’ De consuls were doubtful, and de British consul propoced to arm de Chews instead, but de idea wass scouted. Arm de wicked bloodthirsty Chews against de mild chentle Christians—nefer! De crisis wass acute, and de consuls yielded. Den appeared a marfel. De two thousand pilgrims were dere—and a thousand more wid dem—and wonderful to relate, dere wass also de Scythian Cheneral Adrianoff, on pilgrimache, two or three colonels and machors, seferal captains, lieutenants, sub-lieutenants, all on pilgrimache—officers for an army. De pilgrims assembled, profided wid sticks by de monks. De Cheneral Adrianoff wass neturally put in command off de force. ‘Shoulder arms!’ and beholt, efery stick wass a rifle! Emmunition wass immediately forthcomink, and so wass a machine-gun and its kerrich. De Cheneral Adrianoff marched out to conquer. De street was quickly cleared, de Cheneral approaches to release and reassure de members off de gofernment, when a tumult arices amonk his own men. De Bishop Philaret off Tatarjé hess discofered a plot on de part off de Chews to blow up de Church off de Holy Sepulchre wid dynamite. All de Christians off efery sect and church are transported wid rache. Perish de Chews! De pilgrims dessire to tear de gofernment to pieces, de Cheneral Adrianoff places de members under arrest to save dem from dese frients off order. A new confusion! De Roumis hef been informed by de Bishop det de plot wass directed also against de Haram-es-Sherif—de holy place off all Israel from de beginnink!—and all de soldiers come runnink to put demselfs under de orders off de Cheneral to fight against dose wretched Chews. In fiew off de serious state of affairs, de Cheneral does not hessitate a moment. He clears de streets, proclaims himself gofernor off de city ess representink de Emperor off Scythia, and reliefes de consuls off deir functions ess guardians off de Holy Places. De British and Pannonian consuls protest; dey cannot ressist, for anoder miracle hess heppened. Efery Greek or Scythian church and confent and larche buildink hess become a fort. Cannon are mounted on deir walls, de monks are soldiers, dere iss emmunition in plenty. To de stupefection off de consuls, de Cheneral’s forces occupy efery strategical point, dey command efery corner off de city. Scythia hess been preparink de ground for many years, now she hess played her game, and won.”

“But this is monstrous, unheard-of!” cried Lord Caerleon. “It will never be allowed to go on. England——”

“England,” said the Chevalier bitterly, “will protest.”

“But the rest of the Powers—Neustria, Hercynia——”

“Neustria iss led by de noce by Scythia. Hercynia hess, no doubt, receifed gretifyink assurances—her consul did not efen go through de form off protestink. Pannonia and Magnagrecia will be coerced or flettered into ecquiescence.”

“Then you think it is useless to struggle against this outrageous usurpation?”

“We shell make representations, doubtless. But do we wish to be deprifed altogeder off de Land we hef bought? We must submit to circumstances, until”—there was a cunning gleam in the Chevalier’s eye—“we can alter dem. Det will be de task off de remainder off my life—to return de poisson of dese reptiles upon deir own head. I tell you”—he turned fiercely upon Mr Judson, who had made a deprecating gesture—“I would conclude an alliance wid de Enemy off menkind himself to get dis wronk redressed!”

“Oh, Chevalier!” cried Lady Caerleon, “be patient. Can you not wait upon God a little longer? Think how wonderfully He has furthered your plans during the last few years—how the way of the Kings of the East has been prepared in spite of what seemed insuperable obstacles.”

“Kinks off de East!” cried the Chevalier. “A month ago we were de kinks off de worrlt! Shell we rest contented wid a gofernment sittink at Hebron or Nablûs, regulatink metters off commerce and land, when de Holy City iss in de hends of idolaters, persecutors, creepink things, and de sons off de apostate are gadered togeder to mock at us?”

“You are misjudging me, Chevalier,” remonstrated Mr Judson, against whom the last sentence had been directed. “I feel the wrong done as deeply as you do, although the study of prophecy had warned me that some blow of the kind might be expected.”

“At least leafe us our prophecies!” cried the Chevalier. “May we not interpret dem in our own way, or must de renegades steal dem also?”

“We have no wish to rob you of them; but you must not try to exclude us Hebrew Christians from the heritage of Israel. Yours are the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the promises; but they are ours, too. Don’t refuse our help. I think you have no idea of the deep interest taken in the Jewish question in Evangelical circles in England. Give us leave to do what we can to arouse these English friends of Zion, and stimulate them to action. Believe me, when the facts are fully known, there will be such a strong feeling throughout the country, with regard to the action of Scythia, that the Government will be forced to insist on her withdrawing from Jerusalem.”

“Accept help from de apostate? Nefer, son off a traitor! I will unite wid Christians, wid agnostics, wid Reformed Chews, wid de Adfersary himself, in de cause off Zion, but not wid you. You hef no part in de congregation off Israel.”

“Come, Chevalier,” said Lady Caerleon, laying her hand on his clenched fist, as he shook it furiously at Mr Judson, “you are over-excited. Rest a little, and have a cup of tea,” she motioned the young people away, “and then we will talk things over quietly, and see what can be done.”

“Have you thought what all this will mean to Uncle Cyril?” asked Philippa of Mansfield, as they left the room together. He nodded gravely.

“I know. He came into my mind first thing. It’s awful.”

“To see all his work undone, and to know that he can’t put it right!” wailed Philippa, breaking down suddenly. “I think his heart will break, or—or——” the more terrible fear remained unuttered.

“Do you know,” said Mansfield diffidently, “I don’t think it will break him altogether. It might have done once, but he has some one else to think of now. He will have his wife to comfort and take care of, and that helps a man, Phil.”

“‘It is very good for strength, To know that some one needs you to be strong,’” reflected Philippa. “Oh, dear!” she cried, with a watery smile, “I’m quoting poetry again, just as Uncle Cyril told me not to.”

It is possible that Philippa’s anxiety might have been somewhat relieved if she could have read a confidential letter from Queen Ernestine to her mother, written some months later:—

“This answer to your loving letter, my dear sister, is for your own eyes alone. It seems to me (I hope I am mistaken, and that I detect a criticism where none was intended) that I can read between the lines something that is not exactly a distrust of my husband, but a fear lest his terrible trials may have rendered him less regardful of me. In no case but yours would I condescend to notice such a suspicion; but I like to think of you, the wife of Cyril’s beloved brother, as a dear sister of my own, and I cannot bear that you should be in any doubt as to my happiness. When my beloved’s trial came upon him, I said to him (I am almost ashamed now to write it) that he must be content, instead of ruling the world, to make one woman happy, and this is what he does. Do you realise what that means? He bends all his powers, his whole mind, to please a woman whose life has been so desolate that for years it seemed the height of bliss, unattainable bliss, to be near him, to belong to him. Do you wonder my joy is so great that I look upon it with trembling? That such a man should devote himself to ensure the happiness of one whose only claim is that she loves him—it is wonderful! How can you say that I have given up everything for him? I have done nothing—nothing. You would do far more for your Carlino; why should you think it strange in me?

“Besides, my sister, I have given up nothing that I care for. Court life has had no attractions for me since I left girlhood behind, at seventeen, and although Michael was quite willing—even desirous—that I should return to Thracia, I can see that it is better not. It is characteristic of him to wish to go his own way, and earn his own experience, and a mother’s anxieties and counsel would quickly become irksome to him. There is nothing to regret there, you see. I was cradled in romanticism (alas! my education and my fate were sadly incongruous), and now at last I am happy. I have the society of the man I love and of a few faithful friends, the affectionate loyalty of these poor Arabs, and freedom from the cares of civilisation and state. The Arabs, indeed, have transferred their allegiance from myself to Cyril, and I rejoice in the change. We are both studying their language, for I am anxious to be able to do something to raise the condition of the women and girls, but he has no need of anything to bring him into close touch with the men. Under his direction they are beginning to build themselves more permanent houses instead of their wretched huts, as well as to repair the ruined walls of the fortress in case of need. He is interested also in improving their system of irrigation, so as to utilise much of the water that is at present wasted, and says that he is a candidate for the honour of making two bunches of dates grow where only one grew before.

“Nor are we shut off altogether from the old life. You may have heard that we sent poor Stefanovics (who found the desert insupportable) and his wife back to Brutli, to serve as a means of communication with our friends in the world, and superintend our arrangements for visitors, and they do their work admirably. That good, droll Mr Hicks paid us a visit before returning to America, and the Chevalier Goldberg intends to brave the terrors of the desert before