important business lay. As he cantered away from El Wasta, out through
the green valley and on into the desert where stands the Pyramid of
Maydoum, he turned his business over and over in his mind, that he might
study it from a hundred sides. For miles he did not see a human being--
only a caravan of camels in the distance, some vultures overhead and the
smoke of the train behind him by the great river. Suddenly, however, as
he cantered over the crest of a hill, he saw in the desert-trail before
him a foot-traveller, who turned round hastily, almost nervously, at the
sound of his horse's feet.

It was the figure of a slim, handsome youth, perhaps twenty, perhaps
thirty. The face was clean-shaven, and though the body seemed young and
the face was unlined, the eyes were terribly old. Pathos and fanaticism
were in the look, so Dicky Donovan thought. He judged the young Arab to
be one of the holy men who live by the gifts of the people, and who do
strange acts of devotion; such as sitting in one place for twenty years,
or going without clothes, or chanting the Koran ten hours a day, or
cutting themselves with knives. But this young man was clothed in the
plain blue calico of the fellah, and on his head was a coarse brown fez
of raw wool. Yet round the brown fez was a green cloth, which may only
be worn by one who has been a pilgrimage to Mecca.

"Nehar-ak koom said--God be with you!" said Dicky in Arabic.

"Nehar-ak said, efendi--God prosper thy greatness!" was the reply, in a
voice as full as a man's, but as soft as a woman's--an unusual thing in
an Arab. "Have you travelled far?" asked Dicky.

"From the Pyramid of Maydoum, effendi," was the quiet reply.