"By midnight." 

 "Very well. Listen now." 

 The speaker's manner changed; fixing his big eyes upon the sailor's lesser orbs, he continued: 

 "A few stadia north of Sidon there is what may be called a bay. It is about four miles across. Two little rivers empty into it, one on each side. Near the middle of the bend of the shore there is a well of sweet water, with flow enough to support a few villagers and their camels. Do you know the bay?" 

 The skipper would have become familiar. 

 "You are well acquainted with this coast," he said. 

 "Do you know of such a bay?" the passenger repeated. 

 "I have heard of it." 

 "Could you find it at night?" 

 "I believe so." 

 "That is enough. Take me into the bay, and land me at midnight. I will not go to the city. Get out all the oars now. At the proper time I will tell you what further I wish. Remember I am to be set ashore at midnight at a place which I will show you." 

 The directions though few were clear. Having given them, the passenger signed the negro to fan him, and stretched himself upon the pallet; and thenceforth there was no longer a question who was in control. It became the more interesting, however, to know the object of the landing at midnight on the shore of a lonesome unnamed bay. 

 CHAPTER II 

 THE MIDNIGHT LANDING 

 The skipper predicted like a prophet. The ship was in the bay, and it was midnight or nearly so; for certain stars had climbed into certain quarters of the sky, and after their fashion were striking the hour. 

 The passenger was pleased. 

 "You have done well," he said to the mariner. "Be silent now, and get close in shore. There are no breakers. Have the small boat ready, and do not let the anchors go." 

 The calm still prevailed, and the swells of the sea were scarce 

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