'twas, an' sore sad an' flootered aw were, for t' faace was like a lass
aw loved when aw wur a lad."

"I should think it was something like that," answered Dicky, his eyes
wandering over the peninsula beyond which lay Hasha.

"Summat, aw be sure," answered Holgate, "an' ma woord on't . . . ah,
yon coomes orderly wi' post for Goovnur. Now it be Hasha, or it be not
Hasha, it be time for steam oop."

Holgate turned to his engine as Dicky mounted the stairs and went to
Fielding's cabin, where the orderly was untying a handkerchief
overflowing with letters.

As Fielding read his official letters his face fell more and more. When
he had read the last, he sat for a minute without speaking, his brow very
black. There was no excuse for pushing past Hasha. He had not been
there for over a year. It was his duty to inspect the place: he had a
conscience; there was time to get to Hasha that afternoon. With an
effort he rose, hurried along the deck, and called down to Holgate:
"Full-steam to Hasha!"

Then, with a quick command to the reis, who was already at the wheel, he
lighted a cigar, and, joining Dicky Donovan, began to smoke and talk
furiously. But he did not talk of Hasha.

At sunset the Amenhotep drew in to the bank by Hasha, and, from the deck,
Fielding Bey saluted the mamour, the omdah and his own subordinates, who,
buttoning up their coats as they came, hurried to the bank to make
salaams to him. Behind them, at a distance, came villagers, a dozen