"Thou hast misinterpreted thy dream, Kaid Ibrahim," answered the
Effendina. "The drooping leaf was token of the danger in which thy life
should be, and my name upon thy leaf was token that I should save thee
from death. Behold, I save thee. Inshallah, go in peace! There is no God
but God, and the Cross is the sign of a false prophet. Thou art mad. God
give thee a new mind. Go."
The man was presently lost in the sweltering, half-frenzied crowd; but he
had done his work, and his words rang in the ears of Kaid as he rode
away.
A few hours afterwards, bitter and rebellious, murmuring to himself, Kaid
sat in a darkened room of his Nile Palace beyond the city. So few years
on the throne, so young, so much on which to lay the hand of pleasure, so
many millions to command; and yet the slave at his door had a surer hold
on life and all its joys and lures than he, Prince Kaid, ruler of Egypt!
There was on him that barbaric despair which has taken dreadful toll of
life for the decree of destiny. Across the record of this day, as across
the history of many an Eastern and pagan tyrant, was written: "He would
not die alone.
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