with the utmost care, and found myself on the safe side of the valley, hoping Jrous would follow me so that we might escape together. But it was no more than a moment before everything was thrown into confusion by the arrival of a number of Sheikh Nimrod's soldiers, and the fighting flared anew. I understood then that this was the beginning of a revolt for which I was not responsible, though I had been Jrous's partner in the cause of its breaking out on that day. Nor was it lost on me that my friend, in agreement with his bride Shamma, had tried first to open for me the way of escape, and then to fight to the death for a pur-

pose they had worked for together, as he had told me; and no wonder I set down in my heart a great debt to them, reminding me of that magnanimity and sacrifice which I had known in the most desperate of straits and the most evil of places.

I reached the tunnel at sunset, with the village bell tolling and the din of battle mounting. I cast one last glance behind, and there was Jrous, struck down at the narrow pass. I no longer turned aside for anything, but plunged on alone, stumbling through the darkness, leaving Baakoura, the town of Sheikh Nimrod, to bury her dead and to dig, instead of the single grave, graves upon graves.

Do not ask me how I found the paved road and returned to Beirut on that pitch-black night, for I lost my way again and again; and were you to bring me now to the neighborhood of that cave, I should not know where it was.

Yet in honor of the memory of my generous friend I am still pressing the authorities to rescue that forgotten village — but... where is anyone who will listen? And often I avoid telling this tale of mine, lest I be thought another Jrous and become a laughingstock among my friends — and how many are the mockers!