fell upon the rug, and the man shrank back shuddering before the gleaming eyes of the physician. 
An instant they remained motionless. Then, releasing his prisoner, the physician picked up the dagger, placed it within his own bosom and seated himself quietly at the table. One of the eggs he cast aside; there was a tiny pin-hole through the shell. The others he ate with his usual composure. As he raised a cup of water to his lips the Brahoe, who had watched him with amazement, suddenly stretched out his hand in warning. 
“Wait! it is poisoned,” he whispered. “I will bring you more.”Swiftly he glided away and presently returned with a fresh bowl of clear water. The physician drank without hesitation. “You may go,” said he, setting down the bowl. “Master,” said the man, “be warned. You are surrounded by dangers. But you are brave, and I am your servant henceforth. Eat hereafter only the food I bring you.” The Persian nodded and gave the Brahoe a smile. Still the man hesitated, peering cautiously about as if suspecting listeners. Finally he came nearer and said in a low voice: “I do not know all; your foes are cunning and powerful. But the old khan is not to live the seven days. And life is lightly esteemed in Mekran--if it stands in the way of a purpose. Do not sleep tonight.” “I never sleep,” returned the Persian, looking upon the man curiously.

Indeed, the critical condition of Burah Khan seemed to require his constant attention. The strange physician watched the silent form carefully throughout the night, and only once noted a slight movement of the draperies that guarded the entrance to the chamber. At daybreak he drew the curtains of the windows to let in the light, and turned about in time to dash his heel upon the head of a small but venomous serpent that was poised to strike him with its fangs. Some one had placed it in the room during the night--a messenger of death to either the Khan or his physician, it mattered little which. The Persian stared at the writhing snake a moment and made a gesture of impatience. “It is only the fourth day,” he muttered. “I wonder where Dirrag is.” An hour later the woman brought in his breakfast. “Where is the Brahoe?” he demanded, sharply. “He was found dead this morning,” said the woman, shuddering. “Some enemy, it seems, strangled him while he slept.” The frown upon the Persian’s brow was so fierce that the woman slipped away in terror. “It is only the fourth day,” he growled again, between set teeth; “but the Khan shall live until the seventh day--unless Dirrag comes before. I have sworn it, and, by Allah, I will keep my oath!”

CHAPTER VITHE MAN OF DESTINY A young man paced with nervous strides an open gallery of the ancient 

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