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Updated: April 30, 2025
Walking the hills homeward with Ebn Ezra Bey, Luke, Faith, and John Fairley, David kept saying over to himself the words of Benn Claridge: "I have called thee so often of late. Good morrow! Good morrow! Good morrow! Can you not hear me call?"
Your husband does not take so great an interest in the fate of Claridge Pasha as yourself, madame." She ignored the insult. She had determined to endure everything, if she might but induce this man to do the thing that could be done if it was not too late. Before she could frame a reply, he said urbanely: "But that is not to be expected.
Lacey eyed him meditatively, and said reflectively: "Say, you're an artist, pasha. You are a guesser of the first rank. But I'd guess again. Higli Pasha would have done it, if it had ever occurred to him; and he'd had the pluck. But it didn't, and he hadn't. What I can't understand is that the artist that did it should have done it before Claridge Pasha left for the Soudan.
"One moment, madame," he interrupted, and, opening a drawer, took out a letter. "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?"
As fruit of this indiscretion, an inconsiderable tutor at Leamington Manor whom Lady John Claridge regarded as a sort of upper servant was talking with a visitor. The tutor, it appeared, preferred to talk with the former Chancellor of Saxe-Kesselberg in the middle of an open field.
"You left here at eight last night, I think?" "Eight exactly or within a minute or two." "Just so. I think I'll look at the room on the opposite side of the landing, if you'll let me." "Certainly, if you'd like to," Claridge replied; "but they haven't been there it is exactly as it was left. Only a lumber-room, you see," he concluded, flinging the door open.
With the passing years new feelings had grown up in the heart of Luke Claridge. Once David's destiny and career were his own peculiar and self-assumed responsibility. "Inwardly convicted," he had wrenched the lad away from the natural circumstances of his life, and created a scheme of existence for him out of his own conscience a pious egoist.
The time would come when Lacey would go as his master should go, and the occasion was not far off now; but it must not be forced. Besides, was this fat, amorous- looking factotum of Claridge Pasha's as Spartan-minded as his master? Would he be superior to the lure of gold? He would see. He spoke seriously, with apparent solicitude. "Thou dost not understand, effendi.
But the black doors that closed on the truth on every side only made him more determined to unlock them; and, when he faltered as to his own powers, he trusted Mahommed Hassan, whose devotion to David had given him eyes that pierced dark places. "Surely the God of Israel has smitten Claridge Pasha sorely. My heart will mourn to look upon his face.
This much they knew of David's real history, that Mercy Claridge, his mother, on a visit to the house of an uncle at Portsmouth, her mother's brother, had eloped with and was duly married to the captain of a merchant ship.
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