“You speak riddles,” said Paaker, “what have they to fear?”
The dwarf now related how Nefert’s brother had gambled away the mummy of his father, how enormous was the sum he had lost, and that degradation must overtake Katuti, and her daughter with her.
“Who can save them,” he whimpered. “Her shameless husband squanders his inheritance and his prize-money. Katuti is poor, and the little words ‘Give me!’ scare away friends as the cry of a hawk scares the chickens. My poor mistress!”
“It is a large sum,” muttered Paaker to himself. “It is enormous!” sighed the dwarf, “and where is it to be found in these hard times? It would have been different with us, if—ah if—. And it would be a form of madness which I do not believe in, that Nefert should still care for her braggart husband. She thinks as much of thee as of him.”
Paaker looked at the dwarf half incredulous and half threatening.
“Ay—of thee,” repeated Nemu. “Since our excursion to the Necropolis the day before yesterday it was—she speaks only of thee, praising thy ability, and thy strong manly spirit. It is as if some charm obliged her to think of thee.”
The pioneer began to walk so fast that his small companion once more had to ask him to moderate his steps.
They gained the shore in silence, where Paaker’s boat was waiting, which also conveyed his chariot. He lay down in the little cabin, called the dwarf to him, and said:
“I am Katuti’s nearest relative; we are now reconciled; why does she not turn to me in her difficulty?”
“Because she is proud, and thy blood flows in her veins. Sooner would she die with her child—she said so—than ask thee, against whom she sinned, for an ‘alms’.”