grey mist of endurance and self-control and austere reserve. Yet behind
it all, beneath it all, a wild heart was beating.

Presently, as they looked into each other's eyes, and Faith dimly
apprehended something of Hylda's distress and its cause, Hylda leaned
over and spasmodically pressed her hand.

"It is so, Faith," she said. "They will do nothing. International
influences are too strong." She paused. "The Under-Secretary for
Foreign Affairs will do nothing; but yet we must hope. Claridge Pasha
has saved himself in the past; and he may do so now, even though
it is all ten times worse. Then, there is another way. Nahoum Pasha can
save him, if he can be saved. And I am going to Egypt--to Nahoum."

Faith's face blanched. Something of the stark truth swept into her
brain. She herself had suffered--her own life had been maimed, it had
had its secret bitterness. Her love for her sister's son was that of a
mother, sister, friend combined, and he was all she had in life. That he
lived, that she might cherish the thought of him living, was the one
thing she had; and David must be saved, if that might be; but this girl
--was she not a girl, ten years younger than herself?--to go to Egypt
to do--what? She herself lived out of the world, but she knew the world!
To go to Egypt, and--"Thee will not go to Egypt. What can thee do?" she
pleaded, something very like a sob in her voice. "Thee is but a woman,
and David would not be saved at such a price, and I would not have him
saved so. Thee will not go. Say thee will not. He is all God has left
to me in life; but thee to go--ah, no! It is a bitter world--and what
could thee do?"

Hylda looked at her reflectively. Should she tell Faith all, and take