presence that I may succeed him as ruler of the tribes of Mekran.” “Have you known e’er this that you were Prince of Mekran?” “Not till this hour, when our beloved mufti revealed to me the tidings.” “But he knew it?” said Hafiz, with a glance toward the entranced priest by the arch. “Yes; he knew it, but preserved the knowledge. It seems there was reason for this. My father’s house has powerful enemies, who would gladly have murdered his heir in childhood. So that no one but the Khan and his trusted vizier knew where I have been hidden all these years. And I--I have grown to manhood with the belief that I might devote my life to religion; yet now, when my soul craves peace and that exaltation which is accorded only to Allah’s chosen servants, I am rudely summoned to a life of worldly turmoil, to take part in endless political intrigues and brutal warfares--all of which my spirit loathes.” “‘Tis fate, Ahmed,” said the other, thoughtfully, “and to be borne with the resignation our creed teaches. You are of royal birth, of an ancient line of heaven-born rulers, and you must fulfill your destiny.” “Ah, now you have given me my argument,” retorted Ahmed, with a quick smile. “I am not of an ancient line of heaven-born rulers. We are usurpers.” “Yes?” “Yes. My grandfather, according to the tale I have just heard, was a younger brother of the reigning khan, whom he ruthlessly slew and supplanted. By terrible and bloody wars my grandsire Keedar conquered the tribes that were faithful to his brother’s son, and forced them to acknowledge and obey him. A fierce man was Keedar Khan, and always more hated than loved. But before he died all Baluchistan rendered him homage, and his son, my father, proved as stern and warlike as his sire. For thirty years he has ruled with an iron hand, and is today known to the world as the Lion of Mekran.” “Yet he is dying?” “He is dying; and he sends for me, his only child, that I may be acknowledged his successor before the assembled sirdars of the nation.” “You must go.” “Think what that means!” “You will be khan.” “Ruler of a nation of disaffected tribes, half of whom are eager to return to the allegiance of their rightful sovereign and who have only been held in subjection through two generations by the might of an iron will and the right of a gleaming sword.” “Who is this rightful sovereign you mention?” “My cousin Kasam, whom I have never heard of until this day. He has been educated in foreign lands, I am told, to guard him from my father--as I have been reared in this holy place to prevent my being killed by the enemies of our house.” “And you would reject a throne--a throne bequeathed you by a warrior sire--because there is a pretender to the place?” asked Hafiz, with calm features but sparkling eyes. “It was by the 

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