"It would not have availed," was David's quiet answer. "This land may
not be as Tibet--a prison for its own people. If the door opens outward,
then must it open inward also. Egypt is the bridge between the East and
the West. Upon it the peoples of all nations pass and repass. Thy plan
was folly, thy hope madness, thy means to achieve horrible. Thy dream is
done. The army will not revolt, the Prince will not be slain. Now only
remains what thou shalt do for Egypt--"

"And thou--thou wilt be left here to lay thy will upon Egypt. Kaid's ear
will be in thy hand--thou hast the sorcerer's eye. I know thy meaning.
Thou wouldst have me absolve all, even Achmet, and Higli, and Diaz, and
the rest, and at thy bidding go out into the desert"--he paused--"or into
the grave."

"Not into the desert," rejoined David firmly. "Thou wouldst not rest.
There, in the desert, thou wouldst be a Mahdi. Since thou must die, wilt
thou not order it after thine own choice? It is to die for Egypt."

"Is this the will of Kaid?" asked Harrik, his voice thick with wonder,
his brain still dulled by the blow of Fate.

"It was not the Effendina's will, but it hath his assent. Wilt thou
write the word to the army and also to the Prince?"

He had conquered. There was a moment's hesitation, then Harrik picked up
paper and ink that lay near, and said: "I will write to Kaid. I will
have naught to do with the army."

"It shall be the whole, not the part," answered David determinedly. "The
truth is known. It can serve no end to withhold the writing to the army.