.

." "Till when ?" whispered Babalatchi.
"Till I speak," said Abdulla.

"As to Omar." He hesitated for a moment, then went on very low: "He is very old." "Hai-ya! Old and sick," murmured Babalatchi, with sudden melancholy.
"He wanted me to kill that white man.

He begged me to have him killed at once," said Abdulla, contemptuously, moving again towards the gate.
"He is impatient, like those who feel death near them," exclaimed Babalatchi, apologetically.
"Omar shall dwell with me," went on Abdulla, "when.

.