that to me. But there was another fellow with Gordon who knew me,
and I couldn't face it. So I stayed behind here. I've been everything,
anything, to that swine, Selamlik Pasha; but when he told me yesterday to
bring him the daughter of the Arab he killed with his kourbash, I jibbed.
I couldn't stand that. Her father had fed me more than once. I jibbed
--by God, I jibbed! I said I was an Englishman, and I'd see him damned
first. I said it, and I shot the horse, and I'd have shot him--what's
that?"

There was a churning below. The Amenhotep was moving from the bank.

"She's going--the boat's going," said the Lost One, trembling to his
feet.

"Sit down," said Dicky, and gripped him by the arm. "Where are you
taking me?" asked Heatherby, a strange, excited look in his face.

"Up the river."

He seemed to read Dicky's thoughts--the clairvoyance of an overwrought
mind: "To--to Assouan?" The voice had a curious far-away sound.

"You shall go beyond Assouan," said Dicky. "To--to Gordon?" Heatherby's
voice was husky and indistinct.

"Yes, here's Fielding; he'll give you the tip. Sit down." Dicky gently
forced him down into a chair. Six months later, a letter came to Dicky
from an Egyptian officer, saying that Heatherby of the Buffs had died
gallantly fighting in a sortie sent by Gordon into the desert.