“I am Mata, the slave--My Lady’s slave. All the world knows I am her slave. Was I not given her by the Khedive whose slave I was? May the leaves of life be green always, but I am Mata the slave,” she said stubbornly, shaking her head. “Do you tell My Lady so?” “Wherefore should I tell My Lady what she knows? Is not the truth the truth? Good-night! I had a brother who went to prison. His grave is by Stamboul. Good-night, effendi. He was too young to die, but he had gold, and the captain of the citadel needed money. So, he had to die. Malaish! He is in the bosom of God, and prison does not last forever. Goodnight, effendi. If you, effendi, are poor, it is well; no man will desire your life. Then you can be a slave, and have quiet nights. If you are rich, effendi, remember my brother. Good-night, effendi. May sacrifices be yours... and My Lady says good-night.” Kingsley gave her a gold-piece and went down to Foulik Pasha. As they steamed away Kingsley looked in vain to the house on the shore. There was no face at window or door, no sign of life about the place. “Well, my bold bey,” said Donovan Pasha to him at last, “what do you think of Egypt now?” “I’m not thinking of Egypt now.” “Did the lady deeply sympathise? Did your prescription work?” “You know it didn’t. Nothing worked. This fool Foulik came at the wrong moment.” “It wouldn’t have made any difference. You see you were playing with marked cards, and that is embarrassing. You got a certificate of character by--” “Yes, I know. That’s what she said. Never mind. I’ve played as I meant to play, and I’ll abide the result. I said I’d marry her, and I mean to, though she gently showed me the door--beautiful, proud person!” “She is much too good for you.” “What does that matter, if she doesn’t think so?” “My opinion is she’ll never touch you or your slave-gold with a mile-measure.” Dicky did not think this, but it was his way of easing his own mind. Inwardly he was studying the situation, and wondering how he could put Kingsley’s business straight. “She thinks I’m still a ‘slave-driver,’ as she calls it--women are so innocent. You did your part, as well as could be expected, I’m bound to say. I only wish I wasn’t so much trouble to you. I owe you a lot, Dicky Pasha--everything! You got me the golden shillings to start with; you had faith in me; you opened the way to fortune, to the thing that’s more than fortune--to success.” “I’m not altogether proud of you. You’ve messed things to-day.” “I’ll set them right to-morrow--with your help. Ismail is going a bit large this time.” “He is an Oriental. A life or two--think of Sadik Pasha. Your men--” “Well? You think he’d do it--think he’d dare to do it?” “Suppose they disappeared? Who could prove that Ismail did it? And if it could be proved--they’re his own subjects, and the Nile is near! Who can say him nay?” “I fancy you could--and I would.”