against her knee. The face and eyes of the girl were alight with feeling, as she stood gazing tip at an Arab dressed in a thin, white houmous and a turban, tied with a dark-blue cord. He sat a fine, sleek horse, whose golden coat, all flecked with foam, gleamed in the rays of the burning sun. As we watched, the rider bent low and spoke to the girl, frequently touching his hand to his heart, his mouth and his brow. Evidently he was taking leave of both of them and was gazing for a last time into the dark eyes of this Andalusian maid, whose hand he surely was coming one day to claim. The picture, in its setting of old walls, gray-green olive-trees and blue sky, fired the imagination and left us with a lovely bit of sentiment and color by which to remember this romantic quarter.
It was also here, outside the gate, Bab Futuh, that we came upon a scene of quite another character, though filled with interest for me. A large group surrounded three men on horseback, one of whom, clad in a black bournous, had raised himself up in his large Moorish stirrups and was addressing those below him, as he pointed toward the town. On our approach the speaker became silent and drew his bournous closer about him. I was struck with something little short of astonishment to see again the pallid, feminine face, the tight-drawn lips and the unmistakable eyes of the man who had scrutinized me so closely near the shrine of Mulay Idris in the Medina. I had no more than time for a fleeting observation before the rider swung his horse round and led his companions off at full gallop in the direction of Bab Futuh.
