“No,” replied Azza; “it is the wedding march of a young girl. She is in that casket. These people are her parents and friends, who are accompanying her to the home of her husband.”
“Well, that is certainly very strange and remarkable.”
“To a Christian it may seem strange,” admitted Azza; “but it is the custom here.”
When the procession had passed, they crossed the street and went onward along the dark and winding ways.
At last, with a warning hiss, the Arab halted.
Instinctively, Frank felt for his weapons once more, for, although he could not see his surroundings, he felt that he was in a rather unsavory quarter of the city. The smells which assailed his nostrils seemed to assure him of that.
Azza uttered a soft signal, and then they waited. Twice he repeated the signal. At the third call a muffled figure glided out of the shadows and approached them.
“It is Igela,” whispered the Arab.
Frank’s heart leaped. There no longer seemed a doubt they would meet the mysterious girl who was known as the Pearl of Tangier.
She came toward them in a hesitating, doubtful way, till Azza assured her that all was well. Even then she seemed oppressed by terror and dread. When Frank stepped toward her she shrank away.