One evening, after a day of chafing at his inactivity, the opportunity came. She had brought in some food, and their conversation soon turned upon the terrible state of the country.
"I don't want you to think me ungrateful for your kindness, Mariam," he said, hesitatingly, "but I am now so far recovered and so strong that I feel I must no longer trespass on your goodness."
A grim smile played over her withered old face.
"And whither would you go? Death may await you outside these doors."
"Perhaps that is so," said George, doubtfully, "but I must take my chance."
"I like the young man for his spirit," said the old woman more to herself than her companion. "It is right, but he is a good youth and must not die—life is dear to me, then how much more so to him. Listen," she went on in unmistakable tones of command, "my son does big trade on the river. He owns many nuggars and dahabîehs which carry wheat and produce down to Alexandria. If you could reach that city in safety, you would find means of leaving the country in a ship."
"But I don't understand; how am I to reach Alexandria?"
"My son will hide you on board one of his boats, and in that way you can escape. Your danger will be great, for although my son is known all along the river, your life will surely pay the forfeit if by any chance you should be discovered."
It was a case of "Hobson's choice." Helmar was glad to accept any means of escape, and eagerly fell in with all the old woman had to say. Bearing out her character for beneficence, Mariam was as good as her word, and arranged all the details for his departure.
The first time Helmar put on his clothes he discovered, to his great delight, the money he had earned at the bookseller's was still in his pocket. This was a surprise, for he had naturally concluded it had been stolen. He now pressed Mariam to take it. But she would have none.