his ancient heritage of red hair, which
belonged to a field-marshal of Great Britain--so he swore by the beard
of the Prophet. That is why he had not beaten Soada these months past
when she refused to answer him, when with cold stubbornness she gave him
his meals or withheld them at her will. He was even a little awed by her
silent force of will, and at last he had to ask her humbly for a savoury
dish which her mother had taught her to make--a dish he always ate upon
the birthday of Mahomet Ali, who had done him the honour to flog him
with his own kourbash for filching the rations of his Arab charger.

But this particular night Wassef was bitter, and watched with stolid
indifference the going down of the sun, the time when he usually said
his prayers. He was in so ill a humour that he would willingly have
met his old enemy, Yusef, the drunken ghaffir, and settled their
long-standing dispute for ever. But Yusef came not that way. He was
lying drunk with hashish outside the mosque El Hassan, with a letter
from Mahommed Selim in his green turban--for Yusef had been a pilgrimage
to Mecca and might wear the green turban.

But if Yusef came not by the cafe where Wassef sat glooming, some one
else came who quickly roused Wassef from his phlegm. It was Donovan
Pasha, the young English official, who had sat with him many a time at
the door of his but and asked him questions about Dongola and Berber and
the Soudanese. And because Dicky spoke Arabic, and was never known to
have aught to do with the women of Beni Souef, he had been welcome; and
none the less because he never frowned when an Arab told a lie.

"Nehar-ak koom said, Mahommed Wassef," said Dicky; and sat upon a
bench and drew a narghileh to him, wiping the ivory mouthpiece with his
handkerchief.

"Nehar-ak said, saadat el Pasha," answered Wassef, and touched lips,
breast, and forehead with his hand. Then they shook hands, thumbs up,
after the ancient custom. And once more, Wassef touched his breast, his
lips, and his forehead.

They sat silent too long for Wassef's pleasure, for he took pride in
what he was pleased to call his friendship with Donovan Pasha, and he
could see his watchful neighbours gathering at a little distance. It did
not suit his book that they two should not talk together.

"May Allah take them to his mercy!--A regiment was cut to pieces by the
Dervishes at Dongola last quarter of the moon," he said.

"It was not the regiment of Mahommed Selim