" That the world should go on when he was gone, that men
should buy and sell and laugh and drink, and flaunt it in the sun, while
he, Prince Kaid, would be done with it all.
He was roused by the rustling of a robe. Before him stood the Arab
physician, Sharif Bey, who had been in his father's house and his own for
a lifetime. It was many a year since his ministrations to Kaid had
ceased; but he had remained on in the Palace, doing service to those who
received him, and--it was said by the evil-tongued--granting certificates
of death out of harmony with dark facts, a sinister and useful figure.
His beard was white, his face was friendly, almost benevolent, but his
eyes had a light caught from no celestial flame.
His look was confident now, as his eyes bent on Kaid. He had lived long,
he had seen much, he had heard of the peril that had been foreshadowed by
the infidel physician; and, by a sure instinct, he knew that his own
opportunity had come. He knew that Kaid would snatch at any offered
comfort, would cherish any alleviating lie, would steal back from science
and civilisation and the modern palace to the superstition of the
fellah's hut.
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