No wonder, then, he stands there as if made of stone—­stands and drinks in the sweet volume of sound as it floods that Moorish court, until the last note dies away as might the carol of a bird at even-tide.

Then he swallows a sob, and braces himself for the coming ordeal.  Something behind reaches his ear.  He is positive he catches a deep groan as of despair; perhaps it comes from some cage, where this Moorish judge has an enemy in confinement.

He is not given a chance to speculate upon the subject.  His guide touches his arm and points.  John discovers that his presence has already been made known to the Moor.

He is expected to come forward.  Under the circumstances, the young man is in no condition for delay.  That song, that heavenly voice, has gone straight to his heart, and he longs to look upon the face of the sweet singer.

So he advances, not slowly and with any show of dignity, but in the eager way that does credit to his heart.

He sees a figure in black, seated near the old Moor, and instantly his eyes are glued upon that face.

Then his heart tells him he now looks upon the face of the mother who has been lost to him so long.

Does she know? has she received his note, or is her presence here simply at the desire of her friend, the old Moor?  She does not show any intense excitement as he approaches, and this tends to make him believe she has been kept in ignorance of the truth.

The Mohammedan doctor and his lovely daughter watch his advance with deep interest, for they are human, and take pleasure in a good deed done.  The Koran commends it just as thoroughly as does our Bible.  At the same time slaves are in waiting near by, armed with deadly cimeters, and should it prove that John has deceived them, that the Sister does not greet him with love, but fear, because he bears the name of Craig, a signal from Ben Taleb will be the signing of his death warrant.

John fastens his eyes hungrily upon the face he now sees.  He stands distant only a yard or so, and as yet has not uttered a syllable, only waiting to see if his burning gaze, his looks of eager love and devotion, will have a miraculous effect on his parent.

As he stands thus mutely before her, she becomes aware of his presence for the first time.  She looks up at his face, the casual glance becomes immediately a stare; her cheeks grow pale as death; it is evident that something has aroused memories of the past, and they flood her soul.

Slowly the woman arises.  Her figure is slight, but there is a nobility about it.  Purity is written upon her brow, in her eyes shines the light of faith that dares to look the whole world in the face.  And before a word is spoken John Craig knows his mother has been dreadfully wronged in the past, suffering in silence because of some noble motive.

She has gained her feet, and now advances, walking like one in a dream, her hands outstretched.  No wonder; it is like a phantasy, this seeing a loved face of the past in the home of a Moor in Algiers.  She must indeed think it an illusion.