The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6Parker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
Nahoum was standing in a waiting and respectful attitude as she entered.
He advanced towards her and bowed low, but stopped dumfounded, as he saw
who she was. Presently he recovered himself; but he offered no further
greeting than to place a chair for her where her face was in the shadow
and his in the light--time of crisis as it was, she noticed this and
marvelled at him. His face was as she had seen it those years ago. It
showed no change whatever. The eyes looked at her calmly, openly, with
no ulterior thought behind, as it might seem. The high, smooth forehead,
the full but firm lips, the brown, well-groomed beard, were all
indicative of a nature benevolent and refined. Where did the duplicity
lie? Her mind answered its own question on the instant; it lay in the
brain and the tongue. Both were masterly weapons, an armament so
complete that it controlled the face and eyes and outward man into a
fair semblance of honesty. The tongue--she remembered its insinuating
and adroit power, and how it had deceived the man she had come to try and
save. She must not be misled by it. She felt it was to be a struggle
between them, and she must be alert and persuasive, and match him word
for word, move for move.
"I am happy to welcome you here, madame," he said in English. "It is
years since we met; yet time has passed you by."
She flushed ever so slightly--compliment from Nahoum Pasha! Yet she must
not resent anything to-day; she must get what she came for, if it was
possible. What had Lacey said? "A few thousand men by parcel-post, and
some red seals-British officers."
"We meet under different circumstances," she replied meaningly. "You
were asking a great favour then."
"Ah, but of you, madame?"
"I think you appealed to me when you were doubtful of the result."
"Well, madame, it may be so--but, yes, you are right; I thought you were
Claridge Pasha's kinswoman, I remember."
"Excellency, you said you thought I was Claridge Pasha's kinswoman."
"And you are not?" he asked reflectively.
He did not understand the slight change that passed over her face. His
kinswoman--Claridge Pasha's kinswoman!
"I was not his kinswoman," she answered calmly. "You came to ask a
favour then of Claridge Pasha; your life-work to do under him. I
remember your words: 'I can aid thee in thy great task. Thou wouldst
remake our Egypt, and my heart is with you. I would rescue, not destroy.
. . . I would labour, but my master has taken away from me the anvil,
the fire, and the hammer, and I sit without the door like an armless
beggar.' Those were your words, and Claridge Pasha listened and
believed, and saved your life and gave you work; and now again you
have power greater than all others in Egypt."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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