But another Moslem who had been deeply touched by Lull’s teaching craved audience with the Sultan.

“See,” he said, “this learned man Lull—­if he were a Moslem—­would be held in high honour, being so brave and fearless in defence of his Faith.  Do not slay him.  Banish him from Tunis.”

So when Lull in his dungeon saw the door flung open and waited to be taken to his death he found to his surprise that he was led from the dungeon through the streets of Tunis, taken along the canal, thrust into the hold of a ship, and told that he must go in that ship to Genoa and never return.  But the man who had before been afraid to sail from Genoa to Tunis, now escaped unseen from the ship that would have taken him back to safety in order to risk his life once more.  He said to himself the motto he had written: 

+--------------------------------------+
| “HE WHO LOVES NOT, LIVES NOT!  HE WHO |
|   LIVES BY THE LIFE CANNOT DIE.”     |
+--------------------------------------+

He was not afraid now even of martyrdom.  He hid among the wharves and gathered his converts about him to teach them more and more about Christ.

VI

The Last Fight

At last, however, seeing that he could do little in hiding, Lull took ship to Naples.  After many adventures during a number of years, in a score of cities and on the seas, the now white-haired Lull sailed into the curved bay of Bugia farther westward along the African coast.  In the bay behind the frowning walls the city with its glittering mosques climbed the hill.  Behind rose two glorious mountains crowned with the dark green of the cedar.  And, far off, like giant Moors wearing white turbans, rose the distant mountain peaks crowned with snow.

Lull passed quietly through the arch of the city gateway which he knew so well, for among other adventures he had once been imprisoned in this very city.  He climbed the steep street and found a friend who hid him away.  There for a year Lull taught in secret till he felt that the time had come for him to go out boldly and dare death itself.

One day the people in the market-place of Bugia heard a voice ring out that seemed to some of them strangely familiar.  They hurried toward the sound.  There stood the old hero with arm uplifted declaring, in the full blaze of the North African day, the Love of God shown in Jesus Christ His Son.

The Saracens murmured.  They could not answer his arguments.  They cried to him to stop, but his voice rose ever fuller and bolder.  They rushed on him, dragged him by the cloak out of the market-place, down the streets, under the archway to a place beyond the city walls.  There they threw back their sleeves, took up great jagged stones and hurled these grim messengers of hate at the Apostle of Love, till he sank senseless to the ground.[9]

It was word for word over again the story of Stephen; the speech, the wild cries of the mob, the rush to the place beyond the city wall, the stoning.[10]