Dicky was playing a dangerous game, and Renshaw almost shrank from his
words. He was firing the Egyptian's mind, but to what course he knew
not. If to the Soudan, well; if to remain, what conflagration might not
occur! Dicky staked all.

"Here, once more, among thy people, returned from conquest and the years
of pilgrimage in the desert, like a prophet of old, thy zeal would lead
the people, and once more Egypt should bloom like the rose. Thou wouldst
be sirdar, mouffetish, pasha, all things soever. This thou wouldst be
and do, thou, Abdalla the Egyptian."

Dicky had made his great throw; and he sat back, perhaps a little paler
than was his wont, but apparently serene and earnest and steady.

The effect upon Abdalla could only be judged by his eyes, which burned
like fire as they fixed upon Dicky's face. The suspense was painful, for
he did not speak for a long time. Renshaw could have shrieked with
excitement. Dicky lighted a cigarette and tossed a comfit at a pariah
dog. At last Abdalla rose. Dicky rose with him.

"Thou, too, hast a great soul, or mine eyes are liars," Abdalla said.
"Thou lovest Egypt also. This Gordon--I am not his friend. I will not
go with him. But if thou goest also with Gordon, then I will go with
thee. If thou dost mean well by Egypt, and thy words are true, thou also
wilt go. As thou speakest, let it be."

A mist came before Dicky's eyes--the world seemed falling into space, his
soul was in a crucible. The struggle was like that of a man with death,
for this must change the course of his life, to what end God only knew.