know the worst or the best. She had put her past away for the moment,
and the Duchess of Snowdon had found at Marseilles a silent, determined,
yet gentle-tongued woman, who refused to look back, or to discuss
anything vital to herself and Eglington, until what she had come to Egypt
to do was accomplished. Nor would she speak of the future, until the
present had been fully declared and she knew the fate of David Claridge.
In Cairo there were only varying rumours: that he was still holding out;
that he was lost; that he had broken through; that he was a prisoner--all
without foundation upon which she could rely.

As she neared the Palace entrance, a female fortune-teller ran forward,
thrusting towards her a gazelle's skin, filled with the instruments of
her mystic craft, and crying out: "I divine-I reveal! What is present I
manifest! What is absent I declare! What is future I show! Beautiful
one, hear me. It is all written. To thee is greatness, and thy heart's
desire. Hear all! See! Wait for the revealing. Thou comest from afar,
but thy fortune is near. Hear and see. I divine--I reveal. Beautiful
one, what is future I show."

Hylda's eyes looked at the poor creature eagerly, pathetically. If it
could only be, if she could but see one step ahead! If the veil could
but be lifted! She dropped some silver into the folds of the gazelle-
skin and waved the Gipsy away. "There is darkness, it is all dark,
beautiful one," cried the woman after her, "but it shall be light. I
show--I reveal!"

Inside these Palace walls there was a revealer of more merit, as she so
well and bitterly knew. He could raise the veil--a dark and dangerous
necromancer, with a flinty heart and a hand that had waited long to
strike. Had it struck its last blow?