ladies whom I visit at Karnac have very little more. They are very fond
of me, and always want me to stay and sleep, but how could I sleep in my
clothes on a mat-divan, poor spoiled European that I am? But they pity
and wonder far more at the absence of my 'master.' I made a bad slip of
the tongue and said 'my husband' before Abdul Rafiah, the master of the
house. The ladies laughed and blushed tremendously, and I felt very
awkward, but they turned the tables on me in a few minutes by some
questions they asked quite coolly.

I hardly know what I shall have to do. If the heat does not turn out
overpowering, I shall stay here; if I cannot bear it, I must go down the
river. I asked Omar if he could bear a summer here, so dull for a young
man fond of a little coffee-shop and gossip, for that, if he could not,
he might go down for a time and join me again, as I could manage with
some man here. He absolutely cried, kissed my hands, and declared he was
never so happy as with me, and he could not rest if he thought I had not
all I wanted. 'I am your _memlook_, not your servant--your _memlook_.'
I really believe that these people sometimes love their English masters
better than their own people. Omar certainly has shown the greatest
fondness for me on all occasions.

April 7, 1864: Mrs. Ross

_To Mrs. Ross_.

LUXOR,
_April_ 7, 1864.

DEAREST JANET,

I have continued very fairly well. We had great heat ten days ago; now
it is quite cool. Harvesting is going on, and never did I see in any
dream so lovely a sight as the whole process. An acquaintance of mine,
one Abdurachman, is Boaz, and as I sat with him on the threshing-floor
and ate roasted corn, I felt quite puzzled as to whether I were really
alive or only existing in imagination in the Book of Ruth. It is such a
_kief_ that one enjoys under the palm-trees, with such a scene. The
harvest is magnificent here; I never saw such crops. There is no cattle
disease, but a good deal of sickness among the people; I have to practise
very extensively, and often feel very anxious, as I cannot refuse to go
to the poor souls and give them medicine, with sore misgivings all the
while. Fancy that Hekekian Bey can't get me an Arabic dictionary in
Cairo. I must send to London, I suppose, which seems hardly worth