their onward march by a few squadrons of the Sultan of Sokoto, I asked,—

“Have the horsemen of the Black Standard been routed?”

“I know not. Yesterday I overheard the messengers delivering their report to the Sultan in the Hall of Audience,” she replied.

“But if they are still advancing! Think what terrible fate awaiteth thee if the soldiers of the Khalifa loot this thy beautiful palace, and spread death and desolation through thy city with fire and sword!”

“Arrangements have already been made for my secret escape. In case of danger I shall assume thy garments, arms and shield, which I have preserved, and pass as a Dervish.”

“Excellent,” I said, laughing at her ingenuity. “But let us hope that my comrades will never gain these walls. If they do, it will, alas! be an evil day for Kano.”

“The detection and slaughter of thy scouts placed our army upon its guard,” she said. “Already the defences of our city have been strengthened, and every man is under arms. If the Dervishes attack us, of a verity will they meet with an opposition long and strenuous, for by our fighting-men the walls of Kano are believed to be impregnable. See!” she added, drawing aside a portion of the silken hangings close to her, and disclosing a small window covered with a quaintly-worked wooden lattice. “Yonder our men are watching. Our principal city gate, the Kofa-n-Dakaina, is strongly guarded by night and day.”

Chapter Four.

The Mark of the Asps.

Stepping to the window, I found that the apartment in which we stood was evidently situated in a tower of the palace—which I had heard was built high on Mount Dala—for the great city, with its white, flat-roofed houses and cupolas, and minarets of mosques, lay stretched beneath us. At the massive gate, in the high frowning walls which surrounded the extensive and wealthy capital of the Empire of Sokoto, the far-famed entrepôt of Central Africa, soldiers, attired in bright uniforms of blue and gold, swarmed like flies, while cannon bristled on the walls, and everywhere spears and arms glittered in the sun. She pointed out the Jakara, a wide, deep lake, the great Slave Market crowded with buyers, sellers and human merchandise, the Palace of Ghaladima and the Kofa Mazuger. The city was agog, for the hum of life rose from its crowded streets and busy market-places, mingling now and then with the ominous roll of the 

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