"Am I not thy physician, Effendina, to whom be the undying years? When
the Effendina is sick, shall I not heal? Have I not waited like a dog at
thy door these many years, till that time would come when none could heal
thee save Sharif?"

"What canst thou give me?"

"What the infidel physician gave thee not--I can give thee hope. Hast
thou done well, oh, Effendina, to turn from thine own people? Did not
thine own father, and did not Mehemet Ali, live to a good age? Who were
their physicians? My father and I, and my father's father, and his
father's father."

"Thou canst cure me altogether?" asked Kaid hesitatingly.

"Wilt thou not have faith in one of thine own race? Will the infidel
love thee as do we, who are thy children and thy brothers, who are to
thee as a nail driven in the wall, not to be moved? Thou shalt live--
Inshallah, thou shalt have healing and length of days!"

He paused at a gesture from Kaid, for a slave had entered and stood
waiting.

"What dost thou here? Wert thou not commanded?" asked Kaid.

"Effendina, Claridge Pasha is waiting," was the reply.

Kaid frowned, hesitated; then, with a sudden resolve, made a gesture of
dismissal to Sharif Bey, and nodded David's admittance to the slave.