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Updated: June 27, 2025
Christ in Flanders, Honoré de Balzac. A New England Nun, Mary Wilkins Freeman. Outcasts of Poker Flat, Bret Harte. The Siege of Berlin, Alphonse Dadoed. The Prisoner of Assiout, Grant Allen. A Terribly Strange Bed, Wilkie Collins. The Prisoners, Guy de Maupassant. Mr. Isaacs, F. Marion Crawford. Where Love Is, There God Is Also, Leo Tolstoi.
Her face was ruled to quietness now, and only in the eyes resolutely turned away was there any look which gave him assurance. He seemed to hear her talking from the veranda that last day at Assiout; and it made him discreet at least. "Oh, the price!" murmured Dicky, and he seemed to study the sleepy sarraf who pored over his accounts in the garden.
I am a navvy again come gentleman. I am an Arab come Englishman once more. "I am an outcast come home. I am a dead man come to life." Dicky leaned over and laid a hand on his knee. "You are a credit to Cumberland," he said. "No other man could have done it. I won't ask any more questions. Anything you want of me, I am with you, to do, or say, or be." "Good. I want you to go to Assiout to-morrow."
I suppose they feared pursuit if they kept too near the Nile bank. There is a caravan route, I remember, which runs parallel to the river, about seventy miles inland. If we continue in this direction for a day we ought to come to it. There is a line of wells through which it passes. It comes out at Assiout, if I remember right, upon the Egyptian side.
He knitted his brows over it. "Why, the steamer leaves Assiout at noon of the fifth day that was yesterday." "Oh! I must have passed them on the Nile," cried Arlee. "Maragha is where they stopped last night. To-day they'll be steaming along steadily and stop to-night at Desneh. To-morrow night they'll be at Luxor." "And they stay three days at Luxor?" "The steamer does, I believe.
"The lady at Assiout she who is such a friend to Gordon as I am to thee, Highness." "She whose voice and hand are against slavery?" "Even so. It is good that she return to England there to remain. Send her." "Why is she here?" The Khedive looked suspiciously at Dicky, for it seemed that a plot had been laid.
"The lady at Assiout she who is such a friend to Gordon as I am to thee, Highness." "She whose voice and hand are against slavery?" "Even so. It is good that she return to England there to remain. Send her." "Why is she here?" The Khedive looked suspiciously at Dicky, for it seemed that a plot had been laid.
Kingsley Bey sighed, and his face was clouded, but Dicky knew he was not thinking of Ismail or the blackmail. His eyes were on the house by the shore, now disappearing, as they rounded a point of land. "Ah" said Donovan Pasha, but he did not sigh. "Ah!" said a lady, in a dirty pink house at Assiout, with an accent which betrayed a discovery and a resolution, "I will do it.
"And I never rode a camel," she went on. "I may never have such a chance again." "You don't mean ?" "It would make my story a little truer, too.... And wouldn't it be quicker?" "Quicker? The quickest way is to go back to Assiout and catch the middle-of-the-night express there and get to Luxor to-morrow morning." Arlee sighed.
He was laughing at some article in it abusive of the English, and seemed not very downcast; but at a warning sign and look from Dicky, he became as grave as he was inwardly delighted at seeing the lady of Assiout. As Kingsley Bey and the Ambassadress shook hands, Dicky said to her: "I'll tell him, and then go."
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