A hand was on my shoulder, Isaacs' voice was in my ear, speaking to Shere Ali.

Ram Lal drew me away.
"Be quick," he said; "take my hand, I will lead you to the light." We ran along the soft grass, following the sound of each other's feet, swiftly.

A moment more and we were in the pass; the mist was lighter, and we could see our way.

We rushed up the stony path fast and sure, till we reached the clear bright moonlight, blazing forth in silver splendour again.

Far down below the velvet pall of mist lay thick and heavy, hiding the camp and its horses and men from our sight.
"Friend," said Isaacs, "you are as free as I.Praise Allah, and let us depart in peace." The savage old warrior grasped the outstretched hand of the Persian and yelled aloud-- "Illallaho-ho-ho-ho!" His throat was as brass.
"La illah ill-allah!" repeated Isaacs in tones as of a hundred clarions, echoing by tree and mountain and river, down the valley.
"Thank God!" I said to Ram Lal.
"Call Him as you please, friend Griggs," answered the pundit.
It was daylight when we reached the tent at the top of the pass.
* * * * *.