"Has there been time to get an answer? Do you believe my letter reached Effendi Lampton, Abdul?" Michael asked the question interestedly. Had this seer any second knowledge on the subject? Had he the conviction that in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings there was no misgiving, no fear, that Margaret's heart was undisturbed?
Abdul knew what his master meant, but with his native dislike of giving an unpleasant answer when a pleasant one would serve, he parried the question.
"The honourable Sitt has a noble nature, a clean heart. She is not like Madam. The Effendi's thoughts make his own unhappiness, they are not the thoughts of the gracious lady. The thoughts that come from her travel on angel's wings; they gave the Effendi dreams last night."
"You are right, Abdul. Ah, thank goodness!" Michael gave an exclamation of pleasure; he had caught a glint of sunshine, had felt a breath of desert air. The Living Aton was penetrating the rat-pit.
"Aiwah, Effendi, that is the exit of the village. The Omdeh's house is not far off—in less than five minutes the Effendi will be reposing in his cool selamlik, his throat refreshed with caravan tea."
In a native house the selamlik is a spacious room or summerhouse, set apart for the receiving of guests. To Michael the Omdeh's selamlik seemed like a foretaste of paradise. The Omdeh was a courteous old gentleman, who played the part of host and government official with a simple dignity and friendly hospitality.
The open front of the selamlik faced a beautiful orange orchard; low seats, comfortably cushioned, ran round its three walls. The Omdeh sat on his feet on his mastaba. His splendid turban and flowing white robes gave him the appearance of a Kadi dispensing justice from his throne. Abdul and Michael reclined on the seat which faced him. They had both been presented with an elaborate fly-switch, whose handles were decorated with bright beads.
The old man was astonished and delighted to find that Michael could speak Arabic. He was an intelligent, well-read man and something of a politician, an ardent supporter of the British rule in Egypt. He was greatly interested in all that Michael could tell him relating to the news from the outer world.
In his turn, he expressed his regret that more trouble was not taken to suppress the secret, seditious, and anti-English propaganda which was being taught and preached in the desert schools and mosques.
"Where they started, no man knows," he said. "Nevertheless, Effendi, their headquarters is 'somewhere.'" He smiled the peculiar smile of the Eastern, so baffling to the Western mind. "The English are without suspicion, Effendi; they trust everyone."