Chapter Forty.
In Suspense.
It was one bright evening after an exciting day, during which the prisoners, shut up as they were within the walls of the Emir’s so-called palace, had gone through hours of feverish impatience, listening to the trumpeting and drumming outside accompanying the marching of the troops, but knowing nothing of what was going on save that the Egyptian army was approaching. That they had learned through Ibrahim, and it was endorsed by the officer of the guard.
From him, too, they learned that the new Mahdi had reached the neighbourhood with a force of the finest fighting men led by Emirs of great repute; and he added through Ibrahim that there could be no doubt of the result, for the Egyptian army, the scouts declared, were weak and trembling, ready to desert or throw down their arms, while the white men had half perished by disease, and the other half were unfit to fight.
“But,” said the Hakim through his interpreter, “we have had such reports as these before, and they were not true.”
“No, they were lies—all lies; but these words are true.”
“And you think the Khalifa will conquer?”
“Oh, yes,” said the man, with a look of calm satisfaction; “he cannot fail.”
“How do you know all this?”
“From the Emir my master,” said the man proudly.