"Oh, I don't know!" said Claude. "It seems a stupid place. I can't think why so many people come here. But won't you come and see Alice?" he said, turning to Evelyn. "She will be delighted to see you."
"By the by, I met a friend of yours in Cairo, Miss Trafford," said Claude, as we walked in the direction of the Damascus Gate, near which their tents were pitched.
"A friend of mine!" said Evelyn, colouring. "Whom do you mean?"
She thought, and I thought too, that he must have met Donald Trafford; and Evelyn was considerably relieved by his answer.
"It was Lord Moreton; he was there with a party of his friends, staying in the same hotel that we were. They were going up the Nile. He told me that you were travelling in the East, but the East is a wide term, and I did not expect that we should meet."
"But why do you call Lord Moreton a friend of mine?" said Evelyn, laughing, though her father looked at her reprovingly.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Trafford," said Claude; "I thought he was a great friend of yours. I assure you, he talked so much of you and Sir William in the short time that we were together, that I thought—"
But Claude did not tell us what he thought, for we had to separate at that moment to let a string of laden camels pass by, and the conversation took another turn when we were able to walk together again.
Claude and his wife were travelling with a small party under the escort of a dragoman, and their tents were pitched in the olive grove just outside the northern gate of the city. Alice was very glad to see us, and she, Evelyn, and I had a long talk together as we sat in patriarchal fashion at our tent door, whilst the gentlemen paced about amongst the olive trees, talking to the dragoman, and referring to their guidebooks.
"Is it not strange to be in Jerusalem, Alice?" said Evelyn. "I feel as if I were dreaming."