"Father much better this morning. But oh! oh! oh! ... It seems you are to be telegraphed for to return immediately. Something you have to do in Cairo—I don’t know what. I’m glad you are to come back, though, for I hate to think of you in the same city as that man Ishmael. Let me hear from you the minute you arrive, for I may have something to say by that time, and meantime I send this letter by hand to your quarters at Kasr-el-Nil. "That red streak in the Nile is plain enough this morning. I suppose it’s only the first water that comes pouring down from the clay soil of Abyssinia, but I hate to look at it. "Take care of yourself, Gordon, dear—I’m really a shocking coward, you know. HELENA. "_P.S._—Another dream last night! Same as before exactly—that man coming between you and me." *CHAPTER XVII* Returning to Cairo by the first train the following morning, Gordon received Helena’s letter and replied to it— "Just arrived in obedience to their telegram. But don’t be afraid, dearest. Nothing can happen that will injure either of us. My father cannot have wished me to arrest an innocent man. Therefore set your mind at ease and be happy. Going over to the Agency now, but hope to see you in the course of the day. Greetings to the General and all my love to his daughter. "GORDON." But in spite of the brave tone of this letter he was not without a certain uneasiness as he rode across to his father’s house. "I couldn’t have acted otherwise," he thought. And then, recalling Helena’s hint of something else which it was intended he should do, he told himself that his father was being deceived and did not know what he was doing. "First of all I must tell him the truth—at all costs, the truth," he thought. This firm resolution was a little shaken the moment he entered the garden and the home atmosphere began to creep upon him. And when Ibrahim, his father’s Egyptian servant, told him that his mother, who had been less well since he went away, was keeping her bed that morning, the shadow of domestic trouble seemed to banish his stalwart purpose. Bounding upstairs three steps at a time he called in a cheery voice at his mother’s door, but almost before the faint, half-frightened answer came back to him, he was in the room, and the pale-faced old lady in her nightdress was in his arms. "I knew it was you," she said, and then, with her thin, moist hands clasped about his neck and her head against his breast she began in a plaintive, hesitating voice, as if she were afraid of her own son, to warn and reprove him.