It began to dawn on me that I would better listen after all.  Every human is superstitious, whether or not he admits if to himself; but the particular fraud of pretending to tell fortunes never did happen to find the joint in my own armor.  It seemed likely these two women had some plan that included the preliminary deception of myself, and the sooner I knew something about it the better.  So I sat down on Kagig’s stool, to give them a better opinion of their advantage over me, there being nothing like making the enemy too confident.  Then I held out the palm of my hand for inspection and tried to look like a man pretending he does not believe in magic.  Whatever Maga thought, the old hag was delighted.  She began to croak an incantation, shuffling first with one foot, then with the other, and finally with both together in a weird dance that almost shook her old frame apart.  Then she went through a pantomime of finger-pointing, as if transferring from herself to Maga the gift of divining about me.

Presently, standing a little to one side of me, with eyes on the old hag’s and my hand held between her two, Maga began chanting in English.  The fact that her voice was musical and low where the bag’s had been high-pitched and rasping heightened interest, if nothing else.

“You now four men,” she began, with a little pause, and something like a swallow between each sentence.  “You all love one another ver’ much.  You all like Kagig.  Kagig is liking you.  But Turks are coming presently, and they keel Kagig—­keel heem, you understan’?  That man Monty is also keel—­keel dead.  That man Fred—­I not know —­I not see.  You I see——­you I see two ways.  First way, you marry that woman Gloria—­you go away—­all well—­all good.  Second way—­you not marry her.  Then you all die—­dam’ quick—­Monty, Fred, Will, you, Gloria, everybody—­an’ Zeitoon is all burn’ up by bloody Turks!”

She paused and looked at me sidewise under lowered eyelids.  I stared straight in front of me, as if in the state of self-hypnotism that is the fortune-teller’s happy hunting-ground.

“You understan’?”

“Yes,” I said.  “I think I see.  But how shall I marry Miss Gloria?  Suppose she does not want me?”

“You must!  Never mind what she want!  Listen!  This is only way to save your frien’s and Zeitoon!  I am giving men—­four—­five—­six men.  They are seizing Gloria.  You go with them.  They take you safe away.  Then Zeitoon is also safe, an’ your frien’s are also safe.”

“Monty, too?” I asked.

“Yes, then he is also safe.”  But—­I felt her hands tremble slightly as she said that.

“Do you mean I should leave him?” I asked.

“You must!  You must!” She almost screamed at me, and shook my hand between her two palms as if by that means to drive the fact into my consciousness.  The old hag had her eyes fixed on my right temple as if she would burn a hole there, and between them they were making a better than amateur effort to control me by suggestion.  It seemed wise to help them deceive themselves.  Maga let go my hand gently, and began passing her ten fingers very softly through my hair, and there are other men who will bear me witness that there exists sensation less appealing than when a pretty girt does that.