his head. "Nuffin never wrong wi' me. Always too well. Health to the mast-head—more nor I knows wat to do wid. Wishes I could die, I do—sometimes."
"I grieve to hear that," said the consul earnestly, for he saw that the man was in no jesting humour. "Let me know what distresses you."
"Sidi Cadua," said Bobi.
"What! the father of poor Ashweesha, widow of my late friend Achmet Dey?" said the consul.
"Yis. Hush! Omar Dey—de divl," growled Bobi in a low tone, "gits the berry stones to listen an' reports wat peepil say."
"Never fear," returned the consul, smiling, "they dare not report what I say. Come, tell me about it."
"Oh! it shockable," said Bobi. "Come an' see."
So saying, the poor man hurried off in the direction of a low-lying part of the town, closely followed by the consul. Here, seated on a plain mat in an empty cellar, which was destitute of furniture and almost of light, they found the father of the late Sultana. His gentle, kindly spirit seemed, like his frail old body, to be bowed to the very dust.
"My dear friend," exclaimed the consul, almost overwhelmed with grief at the sight, "has the villain robbed you of all your wealth?"
"He has," replied the old man, taking the con-
