The boy, startled from his sleep, gathered himself together and rose.  His sister, leaning over him with ashy face and fixed eyes, seemed like Fate itself directing him.  Moreover, Oriental youth is accustomed to obey unquestioningly.  Without a word, simply with a sign of assent, he fled out of the enclosure, down the track to the river.

Merla stepped back and out of the yard, and stood waiting, silent as before; she had formed her resolution, and all fear was past.  The mats in front of the door were suddenly pushed aside, and a streak of light fell across the yard, but it could not touch her, sheltered by the wall.  She saw her father rush out, wild-eyed, and the long blade of the knife gleamed blue in the moonlight.

Then, as he dashed through the enclosure entrance, she moved her feet suddenly, scraping the sand, and then fled, wrapped in Stanhope’s long light overcoat, up towards the desert, away from the river.  Krino, blinded, maddened by passion, glanced at the wall whence came the scraping sound, and then, catching sight of a flying form in English dress, plunged with a cry of triumph after it.  Merla fled like the wind along in the shadow of the wall, keeping in the darkness, with her head down, fearing lest her bare head or bare feet might betray her.  But Krino’s eyes were fixed on the silvery grey of the English overcoat, and, blind to all else, he raced on in the uncertain light with his eyes intent on the shoulders between which he would plunge his knife.  Up through the heart of sleeping Omdurman, past silent huts and yellow walls that gleamed pale in the moonlight, through the village to the desert, hunted and hunter fled on, and Krino’s heart rose in savage triumph.

“Fool! he cannot escape me now; by the river—­yes, but not in the desert; he cannot escape.”

And the desert was reached and entered, and still the two noiseless shadows fled over the sand.

Merla’s strength was failing:  her sight was reeling; she could run no more.  Only the joy of knowing that each step led the enemy farther from her loved one had supported her till now.  Now he was safe, he must be away on the friendly river.  There had been ample time.  Not now would it be possible for Krino to reach the river before her lover had embarked.  It was well.  All was well!  And the black sand spun round her in the moonlight, as she heard the hiss of her father’s breath behind her.  She wavered.  With a bound the man threw himself forward.  One stab, and the keen blade sank through the flesh below the shoulder, driving her forward, and she fell face downwards on the sand.

Blind still with fury, the Soudanese bent down, tore at the head to drag it back that he might slash it from the body, and turned up the face to the moonlight.  Fixed in agony and triumph, it looked back at him—­the dead face of his daughter, the PEARL OF THE DESERT.

IV