"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."
"Madame, I congratulate you on a useful memory. May it serve you as the
hill-fountain the garden in the city! Those indeed were my words. I hear
myself from your lips, and yet recognise myself, if that be not vanity.
But, madame, why have you sought me? What is it you wish to know--to
hear?"
He looked at her innocently, as though he did not know her errand; as
though beyond, in the desert, there was no tragedy approaching--or come.
"Excellency, you are aware that I have come to ask for news of Claridge
Pasha.
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