The Persian opened it, glanced without, and then stood aside.

 

“Bring him in, Dirrag,” he said.

 

Slowly the little band of warriors² entered, bearing between them a limp form which they laid gently upon a couch.

 

The Colonel’s face, as his staring eyes fell upon his son, was gray and haggard, but the old gentleman seemed to have exhausted³ his capacity for being surprised. Mrs. Osborne, with a shudder⁴ and a sympathetic moan, turned away weeping, but Janet crept close to the couch and gazed in mingled⁵ fright and horror upon her brother’s motionless form.

 

“Is he dead?” asked the Colonel, hoarsely⁶.

 

“Not yet,” replied Dr. Warner, his hand on Allison’s heart; “but he is dying.”

 

“Where did you find him, Dirrag?” asked the Khan, in a quiet voice.

 

“In the vizier’s garden, your Highness. He was attacked by Agahr’s slaves, who likewise slew⁷ their master’s own daughter, Maie.”

 

The wounded man groaned⁸, slightly moving his head.

 

“Stand back, all of you!” commanded the Colonel, with a sudden accession of his old brave spirit. And as they obeyed he himself approached the couch, a look of stern resolution upon his face. “Allison must speak, he must clear up this mystery before he dies.”

 

The Persian motioned all the warriors save Dirrag to leave the room. Then he drew from his robe a small phial and forced its contents between Allison’s set lips.

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