"Why, outside. There were a lot of old moolahs and other hoky-pokies sitting and contemplating the setting sun and all that sort of thing, and I gave Mustapha the pudding. I told him I wished him to try our great national English dish, on which her Majesty the Queen dines daily. Well, he ate and enjoyed it, by George. Then I said, 'Old fellow, it's uncommonly dry, so you must take the sauce to it.' He asked if it was only sauce--flour and water. 'It's sauce, by Jove,' said I, 'a little sugar to it; no bar on the sugar, Musty.' So I put the boat to his lips and gave him a pull. By George, you should have seen his face! It was just thundering fun. 'I've done you at last, old Musty,' I said. 'It is best cognac.' He gave me such a look! He'd have eaten me, I believe--and he walked away. It was just splitting fun. I wish you had been there to see it." I went out after dinner, to take my usual stroll along the river-bank, and to watch the evening lights die away on the columns and obelisk. On my return I saw at once that something had happened which had produced commotion among the servants of the hotel. I had reached the salon before I inquired what was the matter. The boy who was taking the coffee round said: "Mustapha is dead. He cut his throat at the door of the mosque. He could not help himself. He had broken his vow." I looked at Jameson without a word. Indeed, I could not speak; I was choking. The little American lady was trembling, the English lady crying. The gentlemen stood silent in the windows, not speaking a word. Jameson's colour changed. He was honestly distressed, uneasy, and tried to cover his confusion with bravado and a jest. "After all," he said, "it is only a nigger the less." "Nigger!" said the American lady. "He was no nigger, but an Egyptian." "Oh! I don't pretend to distinguish between your blacks and whity-browns any more than I do between your cartouches," returned Jameson. "He was no black," said the American lady, standing up. "But I do mean to say that I consider you an utterly unredeemed black----" "My dear, don't," said the Englishwoman, drawing the other down. "It's no good. The thing is done. He meant no harm." IV I could not sleep. My blood was in a boil. I felt that I could not speak to Jameson again. He would have to leave Luxor. That was tacitly understood among us. Coventry was the place to which he would be consigned.