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Murad came into our thoughts as we brooded over Alexander's plight. He was still in Baltimore and still attended the chapel services. Did he have influence enough, we asked, to obtain my brother's freedom?

The commodore had sworn that the Egyptian went to church only for the purpose of ingratiating himself with Americans upon whom he had designs. The rector had retorted that he could not allow himself to suspect one of his flock of any but pure motives when entering the house of God. He himself, I felt, disliked the man from the East, but he concealed it well. Therefore, when Murad came to our door, the rector invited him into the library and told him briefly what had happened.

"I am heart-broken over it!" Murad exclaimed, gazing at me with his great liquid eyes, "and I am helpless because I am no longer a follower of Mohammed; yet your Government will surely be able to ransom your brother and his comrades. I do not think their lives will be in danger if your statesmen appropriate the money promptly. It's shocking, of course, yet it's quite the usual thing to pay these ransoms. England, Spain, France—all do it. You see, ever since the days when the Queen of Sheba brought tribute to King Solomon, the Orientals have been trained to look for gifts from foreigners who touch their shores."