“Lady,” he replied in a tone of deep feeling, “the dream of my infancy passed across my mind. This stone on which I stand was once my cradle.”
“Your cradle, Hassan! How mean you?”
“It is now about twenty years ago,” said Hassan, “that my foster-mother was sitting here—perhaps on this very stone, for she said it faced towards Cairo—when a horseman, believed to be my father, placed me—an infant wrapped in a shawl—at her side, and fled at full speed. He has never since been heard of. I know not who he was, nor whether he yet lives. I know not who was my mother—I am a stray leaf blown about by the wind of destiny.”
“Be assured he was no mean or ignoble man—it could not be,” said Emily. “I hope you may yet find him, and be happy with him.”
“May Allah bless you, and grant this and all your other prayers,” said Hassan. “But, lady, do not speak of this matter to others: though known to many, it pains my heart to hear it spoken of.”
After making the tour of the Great Pyramid, and admiring with reverence and wonder the architectural energy and skill which, in the infancy of mankind, had piled upon each other those enormous blocks, brought from a distance of many hundred miles, Mr Thorpe proposed to ascend, and to see from the top the effect of a sunset on the valley of the Nile. A score of Arabs were already on the alert to assist the worthy gentleman and his party in the ascent, and so zealously obtrusive were they in their manner of bestowing their assistance that Hassan was obliged to tell them angrily not to pull and haul the strangers as if they were baskets of dates. When they reached the top, what a magnificent spectacle awaited them! There lay the broad and verdant valley of the Nile stretched out beneath them. Far as the eye could reach were gardens, villages, and palm-groves, among which the Nile, studded with white sails, wound its sinuous course, while beyond its eastern bank rose the Mother of the World,[[71]] her multitudinous domes and minarets all bathed in the golden flood of the sun’s descending rays. All there felt the softening influence of the hour—the imposing magnificence of the scene. None dared to break the spell by an exclamation of admiration. Emily glided to her father’s side and looked up in his face, and as he returned the silent pressure of her hand, she saw that the heart of the kind and enthusiastic antiquarian was filled with emotions that could not find vent in words. After a while they descended as they had come up, and found that the servants had prepared in their tent a dinner, which, following the fatigues of the day, was far from unwelcome.
No sooner was Hassan free from the charge that he had undertaken, of escorting Emily and her relatives to the Pyramids, than he hastened to the Georgian’s tent to ascertain whether any intelligence had reached him respecting the course taken by the Sammalous.
“Much,” replied the Georgian; “an Arab has arrived, a friend of those whom we brought with us, who followed them stealthily at a distance and saw the spot where they encamped, about fifteen miles to the north-west of this place. They do not travel fast, as they are encumbered with the number of the horses which they have captured, there being among them some mares with foal.”
“Can I see and speak with this man?” said Hassan.
“Assuredly,” replied his friend, at the same time ordering his servant to summon the Arab. The latter entered, and displayed to Hassan’s scrutinising gaze a light sinewy frame and a shrewd intelligence. The answers which he gave to Hassan’s minute inquiries were clear and satisfactory, and from them he ascertained that the marauding party were about fifty strong, mostly armed with lances, some heavy guns, and pistols. “To overtake them will not be difficult,” added the Arab, “nor to retake the horses—that is, if your own be swift and strong; but you will never capture their leader, for he is mounted on Nebleh.”