"It is the will of the people," the chief of the Ulema interjected. "It
is the will of Mussulmans, of our religion, of Mahomet," he said.

"True, O beloved of Heaven, who shall live for ever," said Dicky, his
lips lost in an odorous cloud of 'ordinaire.' "But there be evil tongues
and evil hearts; and if some son of liars, some brother of foolish tales,
should bear false witness upon this thing before our master the Khedive,
or his gentle Mouffetish--"

"His gentle Mouffetish" was scarcely the name to apply to Sadik Pasha,
the terrible right-hand of the Khedive. But Dicky's tongue was in his
cheek.

"There is the Mudir," said the Sheikh-el-beled: "he hath said that the
woman should die, if she were found."

"True; but if the Mudir should die, where would be his testimony?" asked
Dicky, and his eyes half closed, as though in idle contemplation of a
pleasing theme. "Now," he added, still more negligently, "I shall see
our master the Khedive before the moon is full. Were it not well that I
should be satisfied for my friends?"

Dicky smiled, and looked into the eyes of the Mussulmans with an
incorruptible innocence; he ostentatiously waved the cigarette smoke away
with the hand on which was the ring the Khedive had given him.

"Thy tongue is as the light of a star," said the bright-eyed Sheikh-el-
beled; "wisdom dwelleth with thee." The woman took no notice of what
they said. Her face showed no sign of what she thought; her eyes were