"I think that what you would say may be found here, with much
else that you will care to know. It is the last news of Claridge Pasha--a
letter from him. I understand all you would say to me; but he who has
most at stake has said it, and, if he failed, do you think, madame, that
you could succeed?"
He handed her the letter with a respectful salutation.
"In the hour he left, madame, he came to know that the name of Foorgat
Bey was not blotted from the book of Time, nor from Fate's reckoning."
After all these years! Her instinct had been true, then, that night so
long ago. The hand that took the letter trembled slightly in spite of her
will, but it was not the disclosure Nahoum had made which caused her
agitation. This letter she held was in David Claridge's hand, the first
she had ever seen, and, maybe, the last that he had ever written, or that
any one would ever see, a document of tears. But no, there were no tears
in this letter! As Hylda read it the trembling passed from her fingers,
and a great thrilling pride possessed her.
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