Daniel next found himself seated upon the marble bench with a caravan-master who had failed through the ordinary channels to obtain redress for the illegal seizure of certain goods at the Tripolitan frontier; and this personage’s amazement at the Englishman’s knowledge of the desert routes was profound.
Later, a deputation of sheikhs from Dongola was received in the shade of the rustling palms: grave, anxious men who had come to speak of the disaffection of certain neighbouring tribes, and to express their own loyalty, which was somewhat in doubt.
At the close of the interview, while he was warning them against revolt, Daniel happened to notice a bundle of stout wooden faggots lying near by in readiness for use as supports for some young trees which had recently been planted. He went across to them, and selecting one of them, carried it back to his seat upon the bench; and presently, turning to the sheikhs, he asked if any man amongst them could break such a faggot across his knees.
The youngest member of the deputation, a magnificent specimen of negroid humanity, took the faggot in his brown hands, and strained his muscles in the attempt to break it, but without success. His colleagues, older men, made no trial of their lesser strength, but were satisfied to declare the task to be impossible.
Daniel rose and took it from them, and a moment later flung it to the ground in two halves. “That faggot,” he said, quietly resuming his seat, “may be likened to the land of Dongola, which is to be the strong support of the fruit-bearing tree of the Sudan. But if it fail in its useful duty, it may thus be broken asunder by hands more powerful than yours, and be cast into the flames.”
To the native mind a demonstration of this kind was more potent than any words, and the deputation of sheikhs left the alcove, carrying with them a tale which would be told to their children’s children.
As they retreated across the lawn towards the entrance, Daniel suddenly caught sight of Muriel, whose face peered out from amongst the rose bushes, as though she were looking to see if he were alone.
“Hullo!” he called out; “what are you doing here?”
“Spying on you,” she answered, coming out into the open, her arms full of roses which she had been picking.
“That’s very wrong of you,” he said.