the events of this fateful night, numerous though they had been, were not yet ended.

leaving the women to care for the dead man the khan had withdrawn to his state apartment, taking with him the persian, dr. warner and colonel moore, as well as david the jew.

“it is best that all mysteries and misunderstandings be cleared up at once,” said the young ruler, when his guests had been seated. “the hour is late, but i believe you will prefer not to rest until you have become acquainted with the facts that explain my presence here as the khan of mekran. but there are others in the palace who are entitled to hear the story, and with your permission i will ask them to join us.”

the colonel nodded consent. he was yet too dazed by the appalling tragedy of the hour to command more than a listless interest in these consequent proceedings. dr. warner was grave and thoughtful, but seemed to realize intuitively that fate had been kind to his old friend in removing allison from his life. after the first shock of grief had passed the colonel himself would acknowledge this. the boy had been a thorn in his side for many years.

“dirrag,” said the khan, “tell captain beni-bouraz to unbind his prisoners; and do you lead them here to me.”

they sat in silence until the command was obeyed, and kasam and the aged vizier entered the room.

the prince carried himself rather better in misfortune than when free to direct his own actions. he appeared composed and dignified, accepting his fate with a stout heart and seemingly without desire to bemoan the triumph of his enemy. agahr’s face was sternly set. what his thoughts might be none could tell.

the khan greeted his prisoners courteously, and waited until they had seated themselves before he began to speak.

“gentlemen,” said he, addressing the entire group, “events have occurred this night which render it necessary that you be made acquainted with some portions of my life history that you are now ignorant of. a few minutes ago colonel moore accused me of being an impostor, because seven years ago he knew me in america as howard osborne.”

kasam gave a start at these words.

“i have never believed you were a baluch,” he said, scornfully. “you were foisted upon us by that false mufti of mehmet, salaman, to further some interest of his own.”

“it is true that i am not the son of burah khan,” responded the other, in even tones. “my father is dr. merad osborne, known to the people of mekran as a persian physician, and now here to verify my statement.”

all eyes were turned upon the dark visage of the tall physician, seeking in vain a resemblance between the two men that would lend truth to the astonishing assertion.

merad smiled.

“i will tell you my story,” he said, “and then you will understand us better.”

“i, for one, do not care to hear it,” exclaimed kasam, with scarcely suppressed eagerness. “if this man is no son of burah khan, he stands before us a fraudulent usurper, and the throne of mekran belongs to me!”

“not so,” answered a clear voice, speaking in english, and the white-robed priest of takkatu pressed through the group and stood before the prince. “ahmed khan sits upon his throne by a better right than you can ever boast, prince kasam of raab!”

kasam was about to retort angrily, but he marked the jewelled star upon salaman’s breast and controlled himself to bow low before the emblem. england had not wholly driven out of the young baluch’s heart the faith of his fathers.

“your words are strange, my father,” he murmured, still somewhat rebelliously. “is not this man acknowledged to be the son of merad?”

“and who is merad?” asked the priest, gravely.

“i do not know, my father.”

“tell him, merad.”

“i am the son of keedar khan,” said the physician, proudly.

a cry of surprise burst from his hearers. even the vizier, who knew no english, caught the name of keedar khan and looked upon the persian with curious eyes.

“i believe,” said kasam, brokenly, “it will be best to hear your story.”

the priest stepped back, giving place to the physician.

“keedar khan had two legitimate sons,” began merad, “of whom i was the younger by several years. my brother burah was fierce and warlike, and realizing that i might at some time stand in the way of his ambition and so meet destruction, i fled as a youth to teheran, where i was educated as a physician by the aid of secret funds furnished by my father. when keedar died and burah ascended the throne i wandered through many lands until i finally came to america, where i met and loved howard’s mother, the daughter of a modest new york merchant named osborne. in wedding her i took her name, my own being difficult for the english-speaking tongue to pronounce, and from that time i became known as dr. merad osborne, a physician fairly skilled in the science of medicines.

“our son grew to manhood and became the private secretary of colonel moore. in appearance he favored his mother, rather than me, having her eyes and hair as well as the sturdy physique of the osbornes. seven years ago, or a little more, the catastrophy that wrecked our happiness occurred. howard disappeared, self-accused of forging his employer’s name for a large amount. he left behind, for the eyes of his mother and me alone, a confession of his innocence, together with the startling information that he had secretly married colonel moore’s daughter before the knowledge of allison’s crime was known to him. his youth and inexperience led him to believe that his sacrifice would shield his wife’s brother and father from public exposure and disgrace, failing to take into consideration the wrong done to his girl-wife and to his own parents.

“i at once suspected that my boy had fled to the orient, for he had always maintained an eager interest in my tales of persia and baluchistan, and knew i was a native of this country, although he was ignorant of the fact that he was the grandson of the great keedar khan. so his mother and i left new york, searching throughout the east in a vain endeavor to trace our lost son. at last we were reluctantly compelled to abandon the quest, and i settled in kelat, where my fame as a persian physician soon became a matter of note.

“it was in this capacity that i was sent for to minister to my dying brother, burah khan, who knew not that i was his brother. but i strove faithfully to carry out his will, and to preserve his life until the arrival of his heir. then came from the monastery of takkatu, where he had secluded himself, my own son, appointed by the grand mufti of the sunnites to represent the successor of burah khan upon the throne of mekran. to the great priest of our faith,” bowing low to salaman, “no knowledge is barred, and from howard’s story of his father’s life the mufti knew the truth, and that he had a greater right, according to the laws of the tribes, to rule this country than the son of burah khan, who, also an inmate of the monastery, pleaded to be left to pursue his sacred studies at takkatu.

“of the strange coming of the americans, through whom my son had been exiled from the land of his birth, i need not speak. the ways of allah are indeed inscrutable, and ahmed khan has acted, during these past days of trial, by the advice of the great salaman himself.”

a silence followed this terse relation, which had sufficed to explain many things both to kasam and to the americans. david, also, shrinking back into his corner, listened eagerly, wondering if there was any part of the strange story that he could at some future time sell to his advantage.{296}

“there is little that i can add,” said the khan, musingly, “to my good father’s words. that he has always remained a faithful moslem you can easily guess, and it was but natural i should embrace the creed of my forefathers. i found much comfort in the religious seclusion of the monastery, but it is nevertheless a great relief to me to be freed at last from the taint of guilt that has clung to my name. the only wrong i did in america was to secretly marry the girl i loved and then leave her to mourn a lover whom she might well consider faithless and unworthy. my only excuse is that i was young and impulsive, and my dear wife, who had never ceased to have faith in my honor, has generously forgiven me the fault.”

as the khan paused, kasam the prince strode forward and held out his hand.

“forgive me, my cousin,” he said, bravely, “that i have been led to misjudge and oppose you. from this time forth ahmed khan shall boast no more faithful follower than kasam of raab.”

howard pressed the proffered hand gratefully. then he walked over to the aged vizier, who had been a silent and puzzled witness of the scene, and touched him gently upon his shoulder.

“you are forgiven, and you are free, agahr,” he said in baluch. “go to your home, and may the prophet shield your heart from the bitterness of the blow that there awaits you.”

agahr looked into his eyes.

“is it maie?” he whispered.

the khan nodded.

“the hand of allah,” said he in kindly tones, “spares neither the high nor the lowly.”

agahr threw up his arms with a wild scream.

“the hand of allah!” he cried; “no, no! not that! it was the hand of him that loved her best—the hand of her father!”

and muffling his head in his cloak he tottered slowly from the room.