"The reply to that is still easier. The man in question, whose name is Nassar, did not leave at the same time with the rest of the caravan, because Aboo-Sammit had entrusted him with the superintendence of one of those branches which, in furtherance of his business, he establishes in the various fresh countries to which he extends his operations. It was at this place, where he remained for eighteen months with the same Nubian soldiers, and which is situated between the third and fourth degree north of the Equator, and the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of longitude, east of the meridian of Paris—it was here that, in January, 1872, a caravan, under the command of a white man, asked for shelter for a few hours. This man, this European, was my husband! I could not doubt either the description of him given by Nassar, or the few hasty lines that M. de Guéran scribbled in his memorandum-book and entrusted to his host." "And why," asked M. de Morin, "did not this man contrive in some way or other that those lines should reach you?" "For many reasons, amongst which due allowance must be made for the apathy and indifference of Orientals in general, and negroes in particular. We in England were, at one time, for two years without news of Livingstone, and we believed him dead because a man, implicitly trusted by him, neglected to send his despatches to Europe. But the best reason of all is this: the address, written in pencil upon a scrap of paper, had, through constant exposure to tropical sun and rain, become partly illegible." "He should have taken it, even if it had been only a single word, on his return to Khartoum, to some Consul," observed M. Périères, "who would doubtless have deciphered it, and would possibly have concluded that it came from M. de Guéran, in which case your mind would have been at rest long ago." "Very true, but would the Consul have given Nassar his anticipated reward? Once more, my friend, you are excluding from your calculations the rapacity of certain negro tribes; you forget that they turn everything into money, that they sell the right of passing through and of remaining in their country, and that they will let you perish in misery and want if you cannot give them a piece of copper, or an armlet, or some cowries, in exchange for the meat and drink you so sorely need. Nassar preferred to wait until somebody came forward to purchase his letter, and his calculations were tolerably accurate, seeing that I have paid him a very high price for it." "Then," asked M. de Morin, "you have no longer any doubt? It was really your husband's handwriting—you recognized it?"