myself and looked about. It was midnight. The lamp was still burning, and by its dim light I could make out the strange groups around. The first object upon which my eyes fell was the tall African messenger. He was on the opposite side of the dais, standing upright, leaning his back against the wall. His arms were folded, his eyes were wide open and staring. He looked immovable as a statue. His white turban, and the shining light of his eyes, made his head appear the most conspicuous object in the room. My brother was soundly sleeping on a mattress not far from me, and beyond him the Arab secretary, quite concealed under heavy quilts, was loudly snoring. The armed guide and our kawass, rolled up in their cloaks and carpets, were lying on the edge of the dais, their saddle-bags and saddle-cloths serving as pillows. The muleteer, resting on the luggage, and our groom, Mohammed, on a heap of fodder, were just below, with the tethered horses. The air of the room was heated and oppressive, and dense with tobacco smoke. There was no window, but over the closed door there were five small round holes. There were two deep, arched recesses in the walls for mattresses, cushions, and jars. In a recess in the lower part of the room the saddles and horse-trappings of our little party were piled up. In the stone wall, close to my resting-place, was the trap-door of a corn granary. I could hear rats and mice within, nibbling and scratching, and the gray cat again and again returned to post herself on my pillow. I sat up. My horse started out of his sleep, neighed and shook himself—walking as far as his halter would let him, disturbing the repose of all the rest, and especially of the donkey.
The groom rose, trimmed the lamp, spoke a few comforting words to his favorite horse, then rolled himself up in his camel’s-hair cloak, and crouched down on the heap of fodder. In a little while there was silence and sleep all around again. But I was sleepless. The mysterious-looking figure of the black man completely fascinated me;
