Barclay remembered only too well. And as he looked at the ruthless face before him he was more than ever thankful for one thing.
"Thank God; my daughter is dead!" he said.
The Sultan smiled, coldly, cruelly.
"Your daughter is not dead," he replied. "She is alive; just alive. And you may rest assured that she'll have every care and attention."
The news left Barclay staring in a stricken manner at his captor.
"My doctor assures me that she will live," the Sultan went on. "And you will live, too, to see her sold as a slave in the public market of my city."
Sir George said nothing. The thought of Pansy's ghastly fate placed him beyond speech. At that moment he could only pray that she might die.
CHAPTER VIII
Three days elapsed before Pansy returned to full consciousness, and even then the world was a very hazy place. One morning she woke up, almost too weak to move, with a feeling that she must have had a bad attack of fever. She tried to sit up, but Alice, her mulatto maid, bent over her quickly, pressing her back gently on the pillows.