ruled to quietness now, and only in the eyes resolutely turned away was
there any look which gave him assurance. He seemed to hear her talking
from the veranda that last day at Assiout; and it made him discreet at
least.

"Oh, the price!" murmured Dicky, and he seemed to study the sleepy
sarraf who pored over his accounts in the garden. "The price is
'England, home, and beauty.' Also to prop up the falling towers of
Khedivia--ten thousand pounds! Also, Gordon."

Kingsley Bey appeared, as he was, mystified, but he was not inclined to
spoil things by too much speaking. He looked inquiry.

At that moment an orderly came running towards the door--Dicky had
arranged for that. Dicky started, and turned to the lady. "You tell
him. This fellow is coming for me. I'll be back in a quarter of an
hour." He nodded to them both and went out to the orderly, who followed
his footsteps to the palace.

"You've forgiven me for everything--for everything at Assiout, I mean?"
he asked.

"I have no desire to remember," she answered. "About Gordon--what is
it?"

"Ah, yes, about Gordon!" She drew herself up a little. "I am to go to
England--for the Khedive, to ask Gordon to save the Soudan."

"Then you've forgiven the Khedive?" he inquired with apparent innocence.