compelled, even if he took refuge in the house of a foreign consul. The
lean, invisible, ghastly arm of death could find him, if Kaid willed,
though he delved in the bowels of the Cairene earth, or climbed to an
eagle's eyrie in the Libyan Hills. Whether it was diamond-dust or
Achmet's thin thong that stopped the breath, it mattered not; it was
sure. Yet he was not of the breed to tremble under the descending sword,
and he had long accustomed himself to the chance of "sudden demise." It
had been chief among the chances he had taken when he entered the high
and perilous service of Kaid. Now, as he felt the secret joy of these
dark spirits surrounding him--Achmet, and High Pasha, who kept saying
beneath his breath in thankfulness that it was not his turn, Praise be to
God!--as he, felt their secret self-gratulations, and their evil joy over
his prospective downfall, he settled himself steadily, made a low
salutation to Kaid, and calmly awaited further speech. It came soon
enough.

"It is written upon a cucumber leaf--does not the world read it?--that
Nahoum Pasha's form shall cast a longer shadow than the trees; so that
every man in Egypt shall, thinking on him, be as covetous as Ashaah, who
knew but one thing more covetous than himself--the sheep that mistook the
rainbow for a rope of hay, and, jumping for it, broke his neck."

Kaid laughed softly at his own words.

With his eye meeting Kaid's again, after a low salaam, Nahoum made
answer:

"I would that the lance of my fame might sheathe itself in the breasts of
thy enemies, Effendina."