"You took a letter to the English lord?"
"Yes, Master, a letter to the English lord."
"From some one in Khartoum?"
"Yes, I will tell my Master everything—from some one in Khartoum."
"What treacherous man sent you with that letter?"
"No man at all, O Master. You see, I am telling my Master everything."
"Was it a woman?"
"Yes, Master, a woman. See, I kiss your feet. I keep nothing back from my Master."
Another groan came from the people at the tent's mouth, and the black boy clutched at Ishmael's white caftan as if to protect himself from their wrath. Ishmael himself had a confused sense of something terrible that had not yet taken shape in his mind. He looked round at Helena who was standing by the angerib at the back, but her head was down and her thoughts were far away.
"What woman, then?" he asked in a sterner voice.