"Is that statement true?" he asked, tremulously.
"It is—every word. Your portrait is as familiar to the world to-day as it was here in Egypt three thousand years ago."
The great peace that had rested on the king's face came back to it. The piercing eyes closed restfully, and he slipped back on his pillow.
"Then, after all, I am vindicated," he murmured. "I have not lived and died in vain."
A hand was resting on my shoulder. The sun was shining in, and a threatening guard was standing over me.
It was nothing. Five francs allayed his indignation. Five francs is a large baksheesh in Cairo, but I did not begrudge it, as matters stood.
XLVI
THE LONG WAY HOME
We bade good-bye to Egypt that morning, and to Gaddis—whose name and memory will always mean Egypt to me—and were off for Alexandria, where the ship was waiting. That long-ago dream of a visit to Damascus and Jerusalem, and of a camp on the Nile had been realized. Now it was over.