like a cat in my grasp, his eyes gleaming like living coals, springing back and forward in his vain and furious efforts to reach my feet and trip me.  But it was no use.  I had his throat and one arm well in hand, and could hold him so that he could not reach me with the other.  My fingers sank deeper and deeper in his neck as we swayed backwards and sideways tugging and hugging, breast to breast, till at last, with a fearful strain and wrench of every muscle in our two bodies, his arm went back with a jerk, broken like a pipe-stem, and his frame collapsing and bending backwards, fell heavily to the ground beneath me.

The whole strength of me was at work in the struggle, but I could get a glimpse of the others as we whirled and swayed about.

Like the heavy pall of virgin white that is laid on the body of a pure maiden; of velvet, soft and sweet but heavy and impenetrable as death, relentless, awful, appalling the soul, and freezing the marrow in the bones, it came near the earth.  The figure of the gray old man grew mystically to gigantic and unearthly size, his vast old hands stretched forth their skinny palms to receive the great curtain as it descended between the moonlight and the sleeping earth.  His eyes were as stars, his hoary head rose majestically to an incalculable height; still the thick, all-wrapping mist came down, falling on horse and rider and wrestler and robber and Amir; hiding all, covering all, folding all, in its soft samite arms, till not a man’s own hand was visible to him a span’s length from his face.

I could feel the heaving chest of the captain beneath my knee; I could feel the twitching of the broken arm tortured under the pressure of my left hand; but I could see neither face nor arm nor breast, nor even my own fingers.  Only above me, as I stared up, seemed to tower the supernatural proportions of Ram Lal, a white apparition visible through the opaque whiteness that hid everything else from view.  It was only a moment.  A hand was on my shoulder, Isaacs’ voice was in my ear, speaking to Shere Ali.  Ram Lal drew me away.

“Be quick,” he said; “take my hand, I will lead you to the light.”  We ran along the soft grass, following the sound of each other’s feet, swiftly.  A moment more and we were in the pass; the mist was lighter, and we could see our way.  We rushed up the stony path fast and sure, till we reached the clear bright moonlight, blazing forth in silver splendour again.  Far down below the velvet pall of mist lay thick and heavy, hiding the camp and its horses and men from our sight.

“Friend,” said Isaacs, “you are as free as I. Praise Allah, and let us depart in peace.”

The savage old warrior grasped the outstretched hand of the Persian and yelled aloud—­

“Illallaho-ho-ho-ho!” His throat was as brass.

“La illah ill-allah!” repeated Isaacs in tones as of a hundred clarions, echoing by tree and mountain and river, down the valley.